.          .  •       ••  .          .    •  '   I;'-':     •    '•       '.'  •: 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 


THE  MISTRESS 

OF 

COURT  REGNA 

By  CHARLES  GARVICE 


GROSSET  &   DUNLAP 
PUBLISHERS  .    .  NEW  YORK 

Copyright  1895  and  1897,  by  George  Munro's  Sons. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  TOUKG  girl  stepped  out  upon  the  balcony  which  ran  along 
the  tall  first-floor  windows  of  Court  Regna,  and,  lightly  rest- 
ing her  clasped  hands  upon  the  rail,  gazed  straight  before  her. 

Her  name  was  Claire  Sartoris.  She  was  on  the  verge  of 
twenty,  and  she  was  very  beautiful. 

A  girl  must  be  extremely  good-looking  nowadays  to  attract 
attention,  to  say  nothing  of  admiration,  because  there  are  so 
many  good-looking  girls  about,  and  they  have  all  learned  the 
art  of  setting  forth  their  beauty  to  the  best  advantage.  No 
man — or,  for  that  matter,  woman — ever  passed  Claire  without 
taking  a  second  glance;  and  many  a  man  carried  the  remem- 
brance of  her  face  about  with  him  for  days,  sometimes  for 
years,  afterward. 

Her  face  was  oval  and  colorless.  It  had  been  likened  to  old 
ivory;  it  had  also  been  likened  to  a  peach  with  the  bloom  off 
it;  neither  simile  was  a  good  one.  Her  hair  was  dark,  black 
indeed,  but  of  soft  texture,  and  inclined  to  curl  and  ripple 
above  the  low  brow.  Her  brows  were  rather  heavy  for  a 
young  girl,  and  under  their  shadow  the  gray  eyes  sometimes 
looked  olack,  and  sometimes  violet.  It  was,  indeed,  rather 
difficult  to  tell,  without  close  examination,  what  their  color 
really  was.  Her  mouth  was  not  particularly  small,  and  the 
lips  were  delicate  rather  than  full,  but  exquisitely  shaped. 
They  were  expressive  lips,  and  the  expression  they  wore  con- 
veyed to  the  observer  the  impression  that  their  owner  possessed 
a  strong  will,  and  had  learned  the  secret  of  how  "  to  suffer  in 
strength  and  silence." 

She  was  slim  of  figure,  but  supple,  and  her  attitude,  as  she 
bent  forward  slightly  over  the  rail,  was  full  of  that  grace 
which  is  one  of  God 's  best  gifts  to  woman.  She  was  dressed 
in  plain  black  merino,  relieved  only  by  an  edging  of  white  lace 
at  her  throat  and  at  her  wrists,  which,  though  it  was  not  par- 
ticularly fashionable,  suited  her  marvelously. 

2135S26 


(J  THE  DISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA. 

From  where  she  stood  she  could  just  see  above  the  tree- 
tops  a  slice  of  greenish-blue  sea,  over  which  the  sail  was  shin- 
jng  redly.  Below  her  lay  wide  and  velvety  lawns,  studded  by 
well-kept  flower-beds,  '^,  wing  like  parterres  oi!  rubies  and 
amethysts  set  in  a  surro;; :  ding  of  emerald.  Beyond  the  lawns 
rose  the  trees,  which  in  a  dark  Hue  stretched  away  to  right  and 
left,  sloping  up  to  the  cliffs,  which  they  clothed  and  hid. 

It  was  one  of  the  loveliest  views  in  England,  and  quite 
unique  of  its  kind,  for  the  cliffs  of  old  Albion  are  mostly  Dare 
Df  foliage;  but  these  of  Court  Ilegna  were  clothed  as  by  a  rich 
garment.  But,  though  she  appeared  to  be  looking  at  it, 
Claire  did  not  see  it.  She  was  absorbed  in  thought.  For  one 
of  the  most  wonderful  things  that  had  ever  happened  to  a 
young  girl  had  happened  to  her,  and  although  it  had  occurred 
to  bor  a  fortnight  ago,  the  wonder  and  the  marvel  of  it  still 
held  possession  of  her,  and  day  and  night  she  thought  and 
pondered  over  it,  sometimes  asking  herself  whether  it  was 
really  true. 

For,  a  fortnight  ago,  Lord  Wharton  had  died,  and  left 
Court  Eegna,  with  its  miles  of  land,  its  substantial  farms,  the 
village  of  Eegna,  everything  hi  the  great  house  from  cellar 
to  garret,  everything  in  the  vast  stables,  from  a  worn-out 
broom  to  the  costly  horses,  to  Claire  Sartoris.  And  as  she 
stood  on  the  balcony,  with  her  eyes  fixed  dreamily  on  the  set- 
ting sun,  her  half-parted  lips  were  saying:  "  It  is  all  mine!  I 
am  the  mistress  of  Court  Regna." 

She  did  not  say  it  boastfully  or  gloatingly,  but  wonderingly, 
and  almost  sadly,  as  if  the  vastness  of  her  possessions  weighed 
upon  her,  as  if  she  felt  lonely  in  the  great  house,  surrounded 
by  the  dark  fringe  of  wind-tossed  trees. 

As  she  stood  thus,  she  heard  the  sound  of  rolling  wheels 
coming  up  the  drive  to  the  entrance,  and  with  a  start  and  a 
slightly  heightened  color,  she  antered  the  room  behind  her, 
and  stood  with  one  hand  rest,  ig  upon  the  back  of  a  chair,  as 
if  waiting.  Presently  the  do.  r  opened,  and  a  footman  in  dark 
livery  announced  in  hushed  .ad  expressionless  tones: 

"  Mrs.  Lexton!" 

A  middie-aged  lady,  with  a  worn  face  and  timid  eyes, 
entered,  and  Claire,  with  a  f;.int  smile,  went  forward  to  meet 
her,  and  took  her  hand  and  kissed  her. 

"  So  you  have  come,  Maryl"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  with 
a  perceptible  tremor  in  it. 

'  Yes,  Claire,"  said  the  elder  woman,  who  was  much 
agitated;  "  of  course,  I  came  directly.  Why  did  you  not  send 
for  me  before? — though  it  was  very  good  of  you  to  send  for  me 


THE  MTSTRT?SS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  7 

at  all!  Oh,  my  dear,  how  tall  you  have  grown!  And  how  " — 
her  voice  dropped — "  how  beautiful!" 

Claire  blushed  slightly,  but  only  for  a  moment. 

"  I  should  scarcely  have  known  you,"  went  on  Mrs.  Lex- 
ton,  "  you  have  altered  so." 

"  I  was  only  a  child  when  you  saw  me  last,  Mary,"  said 
Claire.  "  And  a  great  deal  has  happened  since  then." 

"  Yes,  yes!"  nervously  assented  Mrs.  Lexton,  with  her 
timid  eyes  fixed  upon  the  beautiful  face,  as  if  she  could  not 
remove  them.  "  I  am  so  anxious  to  hear  it  all!  You  muse 
have  so  much  to  tell  me — " 

"  Yes,"  said  Claire  in  a  low,  firm  voice,  which,  for  all  its 
firmness,  was  like  a  note  of  music.  "  But  you  must  come 
and  take  off  your  things.  It  is  nearly  dinner-time,  but  you 
shall  have  your  tea  all  the  same;  I  will  have  it  sent  up  to  your 
room." 

She  rang  the  bell. 

"  Some  tea  to  Mrs.  Lexton's  room/'  she  said  to  the  foot- 
man. And  Mrs.  Lexton  watched  her,  as  if  impressed  by  the 
girl's  quiet  dignity  and  air  of  command.  "  Come!"  said 
laire;  and  drawing  Mrs.  Lexton's  arm  within  hers,  she  led 
her  to  the  room  prepared  for  her. 

As  they  went  along  the  corridor,  the  elder  woman  looked 
about  her,  and  down  at  the  great  hall,  not  with  vulgar  curi- 
osity, but  with  a  kind  of  wonder  on  her  refined  face. 

Claire  noticed  it,  and  smiled  faintly;  and  Mrs.  Lexton  mur- 
mured, apologetically: 

"  I  am  not  used  to  such  grandeur,  dear." 

"  You  will  very  soon  get  used  to  it,  Mary,"  said  Claire. 
"  Sit  down  in  that  easy-chair,  and  let  me  take  your  bonnet  off 
for  you.  How  tired  you  must  be  after  your  long  journey! 
You  are  looking  just  the  same,  Mary;  just  the  same  kind, 
lovable  face,  just  as  I  have  pictured  it  many  and  many  a 
time.  Heaven  knows  how  often  I  have  longed  for  a  sight  of 
you;  and  how  often  I  have  longed  to  write  and  tell  you  of 
that  longing." 

"  He  would  not  let  you  write,  dear?"  said  Mrs.  Lexton,  in 
an  awed  whisper. 

Claire  turned  her  eyes  away. 

"  He  would  not  let  me  write  to  any  one,  nor  see  any  one  of 
my  old  friends,"  said  Claire.  "  The  first  day  I  came  here, 
years  ago,  Lord  Wharton  told  me  of  his  wish  in  the  matter. 
It  was  his  express  command  that  I  should  hold  no  communi- 
cation whatever  with  those  I  had  left." 

*'  I  know — I  understand — dear,"  said  Mrs.  Lexton.     "  How 


g  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

sad  it  must  have  been  for  you!    Have  you  been  very  unhappy 

henlire  looked  thoughtfully  out  of  the  window. 

"Not  vm  unhappy,"  she  said;  "  scarcely  unhappy  at  all. 
Sometimes  Tt  C  E  very  lonely-tor  Lord  Wharton  would 

~*lXto™  beTshutVp  in  this  great  house  alone  with 
an  old  man?" 

ISd^fmoS,  with  spotless  collar  and  cuffs  of  white 
linen  brought  in  the  tea.  Claire  poured  out  a  cup. 

"  You  take  sugar,  I  remember,     she  said. 

The  elder  woman  was  so  absorbed  in  her  *$&•»*£ 
of  wonder  at  the  calmness,  the  exquisite  repose,  of  the  solita  y 
you*  g  girl,  that  she  held  the  cup  in  her  hand  and  seemed  to 
forget  the  tea,  though  every  nerve  was  aching  for  it  f 

»  Tell  me  everything,  Claire,  dear!     she  said.  .all 

BO  strange,  seems  so  wonderful,  that  I  can  scarcely  realize  t. 
She  looked  round  the  expensively  furnished  room,  as  if  it 

;r'the  bed,  and  leaned  her  arm  on  the  broad  brass 


ra«  When  it  comes  to  telling  you,  Mary,"  she  said,  "  there 
seems  after  all,  so  little  to  tell.  Nothing  eventful  seems  to 
havroccurred  since  Lord  Wharton  sent  for  me  five  years  ago. 
I  remember  that  night  as  clearly  as  if  it  was  but  yesterday. 
Therbmught  me  into  the  library,  which,  you  will  see  pres- 
ently, and  there  I  saw  a  very  old  man  sitting  upright  m  a 
great  oak  chair.  He  looked  so  white,  that  I  remember  I 
thought  he  must  be  half  dead;  but  to  eyes  were  full  of  tierce 

and  I  trembled  as  he  fixed  them  piercingly  on  me. 
She  paused  a  moment,  as  if  she  were  recalling  the  scene, 
and  Mrs.  Lexton  gripped  the  tea-cup  nervously,  and,  leaning 
forward,  gazed  at  the  dreamy  face. 

"'So  you  are  Claire?'  he  said;  'and  you  have  come  to 
take  charge  of  Court  Regna  and  me?'  He  laughed,  or  his 
mouth  shaped  as  if  he  were  laughing,  though  no  sound  came. 
'A  young  mistress!'  he  said.  «  Let  us  come  to  an  under- 
standing!  If  you  are  to  remain  here,  you  will  be  good 
enough  to  forget  everything  that  you  have  left  behind  lou 
will  write  to  no  one-see  no  one  of  your  people.  You  will 
belong  to  me  as  a  daughter  belongs  to  a  father.  Young  as 
YOU  are,  you  will  understand  what  1  mean,  I  think,  for  you 
do  not  look  a  fool/  I  said  nothing;  but  he  seemed  satisfied, 
and  he  rang  the  bell.  The  housekeeper  came,  and  he  said  to 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  9 

her,  '  This  is  Miss  Claire  Sartoris.  She  is  mistress  here;  you 
will  do  as  she  tells  you — you  may  go.'  That  was  all.  From 
that  day  to  this  every  one  in  the  place  regarded  me  as  its  mis- 
tress/' 

"  Claire!    And  you  so  young!" 

"  Yes;  but  I  soon  grew  old.  I  was  free  to  go  where  I 
pleased,  do  as  I  pleased,  as  long  as  I  was  ready  at  his  call." 

"  He  was  not  unkind  to  you,  Claire?" 

"  Not  unkind,"  said  Claire;  "  but  not  kind.  He  could  not 
be.  There  was  scarcely  a  moment  that  he  was  not  in  pain. 
He  never  complained;  but  it  seemed  to  madden  him  some- 
times, and  then  " — she  paused — "  at  those  times  he  seemed 
to  hate  the  whole  world,  and  especially  those  near  him;  and 
whenever  the  black  fits  were  upon  him,  he  would  remind  me 
that  my  future  was  at  his  disposal,  and  that  I  had  no  claim 
upon  him." 

"  My  poor  Claire!    And  yet — " 

"  Only  the  night  before  he  died  he  told  me  that  he  had  /eft 
me  nothing  beyond  a  small  income.  I  did  not  expect  any 
more — I  did  not  want  any  more.  I  had  grown  fond  of  him — 
almost  to  regard  him  as  a  father — "  Her  voice  dropped,  and 
her  eyes  became  downcast.  "  I  was  sorry  that  he  was  dead. 
When  the  lawyer,  Mr.  Sapley,  came  and  asked  me  to  be  pres- 
ent at  the  reading  of  the  will,  I  begged  him  to  excuse  me, 
but  he  insisted;  and  I  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  darkened  room, 
scarcely  listening,  and  not  understanding  a  word.  And  it 
was  only  after  he'd  explained  to  me  two  or  three  times,  that  I 
understood  that  Lord  Wharton  had  left  me  everything  of 
which  he  was  possessed." 

"  Everything,  Claire?"  breathed  Mrs.  Lexton. 

"  Everything!"  said  Claire.  "  The  house,  the  whole 
estate — everything!" 

Mrs.  Lexton  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  It  is  wonderful!"  she  murmured. 

"It  is  wonderful!"  assented  Claire.  "I  have  not,  even 
yet,  fully  realized  it.  Lord  Wharton  himself  told  me  that  I 
was  to  expect  nothing  but  a  few  hundreds  a  year.  In 
moments  of  anger  he  had  even  threatened  to  deprive  me  of 
those.  Never  by  word  or  sign  had  he  given  me  any  hint  of 
his  intention  to  make  me  his  heiress." 

Mrs.  Lextoc  leaned  back. 

"  And  the  relations,  Claire?"  she  asked. 

"  I  do  not  know  of  any,"  said  Claire;  "  excepting  very  dis- 
tant ones,  like  myself.  There  were  some  at  the  funeral  and  the 
reading  of  the  will;  but  no  one  came  here  during  Lord 


10  THE  MISTKESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

ton's  life-time,  and  he  held  no  communication  with  them.  1 
know,  because  I  read  and  wrote  all  his  letters.  He  saw  no 
one  but  the  doctor  and  Mr.  Sapley,  the  lawyer,  who  is  the 
agent  of  the  estate." 

"  It  is  like  a  romance!"  said  Mrs.  Lexton. 

"  It  is.  Sometimes  I  think  I  shall  wake  and  find  it  all  a 
dream.  When  I  am  sitting  by  myself,  alone  in  this  great 
house,  I  often  think  that  I  hear  his  voice — it  was  harsh  and 
hard,  and  you  could  hear  it  at  a  great  distance — calling  to  me; 
and  I  rise  and  take  half  a  dozen  steps  toward  his  room.  Then 
I  remember  that  he  is  dead,  and  that  I  am  my  own  mistress, 
and  that  he  will  never  call  me  again." 

There  was  silence  for  a  minute  or  two. 

"  And  what  do  you  mean  to  do,  Claire?"  asked  Mrs.  Lex- 
ton.  "  You  will  go  away  for  a  change;  leave  here  for  awhile?" 

"  No,  I  think  not,"  said  Claire,  musingly.  "  I  have  been 
here  so  long  that  I  feel  frightened  at  the  thought  of  going  into 
the  world.  I  am  like  the  prisoner  of  the  Bastile,  who,  when 
they  had  released  him,  begged  them  to  take  him  back  to  his 
cell.'.' 

"  But,  my  dear — "  remonstrated  Mrs.  Lexton. 

Claire  smiled. 

"  That  is  my  feeling  at  present.  It  may  pass  in  time;  but 
for  the  present  I  will  stay  here.  I  have  sent  for  you  to  keep 
me  company,  Mary.  You  will  not  feel  it  dull  or  lonely?" 

Mrs.  Lexton  laughed. 

"  My  dear  Claire,  how  could  I  possibly  feel  dull  with  you, 
and  in  such  a  place  as  this?  Its  beauty  and  its  grandeur 
makes  me  feel  very  much  as  Aladdin  must  have  felt  when  he 
first  saw  his  palace.  I  think  if  I  were  to  remain  here  twenty 
years  I  should  find  enough  to  amuse  and  interest  me. 

Claire  laughed. 

"  And  yet  you  have  seen  so  little  of  it?"  she  said.  "  Would 
yon  like  to  walk  round  the  house,  or  are  you  too  tired?" 

Mrs.  Lexton  rose  instantly. 

*'  It  is  what  I  am  dying  to  do,"  she  said,  as  she  caught  up 
her  bonnet. 

They  went  down  the  broad  staircase,  and  into  the  hall. 
Claire  waved  her  hand  slightly. 

"  Family  portraits,"  she  said.     "  That  is  Lord  Wharton." 

Mrs.  Lexton  gazed  with  awe  at  the  grim,  stern  face. 

"  It  is  the  last  on  the  line,"  she  said;  "  are  there  no 
others?"  She  spoke  almost  in  a  whisper,  as  if  she  were  in 
church,  for  the  stained  windows  gave  a  dim,  religious  light  to 


THE  MISTEESS  OF  COURT  REGHA.  11 

the  vast  place,  and  the  vaulted  roof  resembled  that  of  a 
cathedral. 

"  There  are  no  others  after  his,"  said  Claire.  She  pointed 
out  the  tattered  flags  hanging  from  the  roof,  the  men  in 
armor,  and  the  ancient  weapons  arranged  in  quaint  patterns 
upon  the  paneled  walls;  and  then  she  drew  her  companion 
through  the  wide  door-way  into  the  open  air. 

They  stood  upon  the  terrace  for  a  moment  or  two,  while 
Mrs.  Lexton  looked  at  the  long  and  noble  facade  in  silent 
amazement. 

"  I've  read  of  such  places,  and  seen  pictures  of  them, 
Claire,"  she  said;  "  but  I  have  never  imagined  any  places  like 
this." 

"  There  are  very  few  like  it,"  said  Claire,  absently.  "  But 
let  us  come  into  the  garden." 

They  crossed  the  lawn,  Mrs.  Lexton  marveling  at  every 
step,  and  following  a  winding  path  through  the  trees, 
mounted  to  the  cliff,  to  a  spot  from  which  the  trees  had  been 
cleared,  and  from  which  they  could  obtain  a  panoramic  view 
of  the  sea,  the  coast  line,  and  the  fields  and  woods  of  Court 
Regna  stretching  far  inland.  Mrs.  Lexton  looked  round  for 
a  time  in  speechless  admiration;  then  a  cluster  of  houses  built 
in  a  cleft  of  the  rocks  which  formed  a  narrow  valley  running 
steeply  to  the  sea,  caught  her  eye,  and  she  exclaimed: 

"  There  is  a  village  there,  Claire.     What  is  it?" 

"  That  is  Regna,"  said  Claire.  "  It  is  a  very  famous  place. 
There  is  no  other  village  in  England  like  it.  There  is  just 
one  street,  as  you  see,  and  it  is  so  steep  that  no  carriage  can 
go  down  it;  most  of  the  roadway  is  composed  of  steps.  Those 
little  dots  you  see  moving  up  it  are  donkeys,  bringing  up  fish 
from  the  boats  which  lie  inside  the  harbor.  Do  you  see  the 
little  pier?" 

Mrs.  Lexton  drew  a  long  breath  of  appreciation  and  de- 
light. 

"  It  is  wonderful,"  she  said.     "  It  is  like  a  picture!" 

"  A  great  many  pictures  have  been  made  of  it,"  said  Claire. 
"  Artists  come  from  all  parts  of  the  world  to  paint  it.  There 
is  not  a  cottage  or  a  nook  in  it  that  has  not  been  put  on  can- 
vas. Regna  is  one  of  the  show  places,  and  in  the  season  hun- 
dreds of  excursionists  flock  into  it.  They  come  by  coach  from 
Thraxton,  which  is  about  fourteen  miles  away,  or  by  steamer. 
The  narrow  street  is  sometimes  so  crowded  that  one  can 
scarcely  pass.  That  is  in  the  season,  of  course;  at  other  times 
it  is  as  quiet  and  deserted  as  any  other  English  village." 

"  To  whom  does  it  belong?"  asked  Mrs.  Lexton. 


12  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

"  To  Lord  Wharton — I  mean,  to  me." 

Mrs.  Lexton  stared. 

"To  you?  To  you?  The  whole  village!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Lexton. 

"  Yes,"  said  Claire,  calmly.  "  Every  house;  a  great  many 
of  the^boats  themselves;  those  donkeys  may  be  mine;  certainly 
every  inch  of  the  laud  is.  I  do  not  know  whether  the  vessel? 
pay  a  toll  to  the  pier,  but  if  they  do,  it  is  mine." 

"  Oh,  I  can  not  realize  it,  Claire!" 

Claire  smiled. 

"  And  now  you  can  understand  how  I  fail  to  realize  it,"  she 
said,  gently. 

They  walked  on,  and  presently  they  came  to  another  clear- 
ing, from  which  they  could  see  prosperous  farms  dotted 
amongst  the  neatly  hedged  fields. 

"  And  these?"  asked  Mrs.  Lexton. 

"Are  mine  also,"  said  Claire.  "That  large  farm  is 
Westcroft;  and  that  Low  Barton;  and  that  one  over  there 
Failby.  The  farm  near  the  house,  just  beyond  the  stables,  is 
the  Home  Farm.  It  supplies  us  with  butter  and  cream  and 
eggs,  and  it  costs  a  small  fortune  to  keep  up." 

'  Those  woods  over  there  in  the  distance,  surely  those  are 
not  yours?" 

"Indeed,  yes!"  replied  Claire.  "The  estate  stretches 
further  than  you  can  see." 

Mrs.  Lexton  drew  another  long  breath. 

"  I  am  growing  bewildered,  Claire,"  she  said.  "  I  can  not 
take  it  all  in  at  one  view.  I  must  come  up  here  and  look 
steadily  at  one  part  of  it,  and  when  I  have  realized  that  that 
belongs  to  you,  I  must  turn  to  another  part,  and  so  on." 

Claire  laughed  softly. 

"  We  will  go  down  this  way,"  she  said,  "  and  look  in  at  the 
stables;  you  will  not  have  time  to  see  the  whole,  but  we  will 
just  walk  through." 

They  went  down  by  a  winding  path,  similar  to  that  by 
which  they  had  ascended,  and,  passing  under  a  lofty  arch  of 
stone,  entered  the  paved  stable-yard.  Grooms  and  stable- 
helps  touched  their  caps,  and  stood  expectant  and  ready  to 
obey  Claire's  command.  With  a  word  to  one  and  the  other, 
she  led  Mrs.  Lexton  into  the  stables.  They  were  lofty,  and 
constructed  on  the  most  approved  principles,  and  the  horses 
of  Court  Regna  were  better  housed  than  many  a  human  being. 
Mrs.  Lexton  marveled  at  it  all,  and  marveled  still  more  at 
the  familiar  and  fearless  way  in  which  Claire  went  from  stall 
to  stall  and  putted  and  caressed  the  horses. 


THE   MISTRESS   OF  COURT  REGNA.  13 

"  This  is  my  special  mare,"  she  said,  drawing  the  sleek 
head  of  the  beautiful  animal  down  to  her  cheek. 
*  You  ride — but,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Lexton. 

"  I  spend  most  of  my  time  in  the  saddle/'  said  Claire,  "  or 
driving  this  pair  of  cobs.  I  will  take  you  for  a  drive  to-mor- 
row, and  you  must  learn  to  drive  yourself;  you  shall  begin 
with  that  dear  old  pony  there;  he  has  been  petted  so  much 
that  he  is  almost  human,  and,  indeed,  is  more  trustworthy 
than  most  humans." 

As  they  passed  out  by  a  door  at  the  lower  end  of  the  stables, 
a  gentleman  came  toward  them,  as  if  he  had  just  left  the 
house.  He  was  an  oldish  man,  tall  and  gaunt,  his  broad 
shoulders  stooped  slightly,  and  his  long  arms  swung  in  a 
peculiar  manner  at  his  side;  his  face  was  big-featured,  with 
beetling  brows,  from  under  which  gleamed  small  and  cunning- 
looking  eyes.  The  mouth  was  huge  and  coarse,  though  the 
lips  were  thin.  He  was  dressed  in  dark  and  sober  clothes, 
and  looked  in  every  inch  a  professional  man.  At  sight  of 
him,  Mrs.  Lexton  was  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  repugnance, 
and  as  the  small  eyes  darted  stealthily  from  Claire  to  her,  she 
drew  back  timidly. 

CHAPTER   II. 

HE  raised  his  hat,  with  a  smile  that  was  at  once  obsequious 
and  self-assertive. 

"  Good-evening,  Miss  Sartoris,"  he  said  in  a  subdued  but 
harsh  voice.  "  I  have  driven  over  to  see  about  the  lease  of 
"Westcroft;  but  you  are  engaged,  I  see." 

"  My  friend,  Mrs.  Lextou,  has  but  just  arrived,"  said 
Claire.  He  raised  his  hat  in  acknowledgment  of  the  intro- 
duction. 

"  I  will  come  over  to-morrow,"  he  said.  "  Or,  perhaps, 
Mordaunt  will  come;  he  knows  all  about  the  lease." 

"  Very  good,"  said  Claire.  "  But  will  you  not  stay  and 
dine  with  us?" 

"  Thank  you,  no,  Miss  Sartoris;  there  are  one  or  two  things 
I  wish  to  see  to,  and  I  want  to  get  back;  thank  you  all  the 
same.  There  is  nothing  I  can  do  for  you?  No?  Then  I  will 
wish  you  good-evening.  Good-evening,  madame."  And, 
raising  his  hat  again,  he  bowed  and  stood  aside  to  allow  them 
to  pass. 

"  Who  was  that,  Claire?"  asked  Mrs.  Lexton,  when  they 
had  got  out  of  hearing. 

"  Mr.  Sapley,  the  lawyer  and  agent." , 


14  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

"  What  an  odd -looking  man!" 

"Odd?"  said  Claire. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Lexton,  reluctantly,  but  as  j/  she  were 
forced  to  explain,  "  Don't  you  think  he  has  a  most  unpleas- 
ant face?" 

"  Did  it  strike  you  so?"  asked  Claire. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Lexton.  "It  reminded  me  of  a  ser- 
pent's; it  was  so  broad  at  the  top,  and  his  eyes  glittered  so. 
But,  forgive  me,  Claire,  it  is  like  my  presumption  to  criticise 
your  friends  so  harshly— and  within  a  few  hours  of  my  arrival, 
too." 

Claire  smiled. 

"  I  don't  know  that  Mr.  Sapley  is  exactly  a  friend  of  mine, 
Mary,"  she  said.  "  The  Sapleys  have  been  agents  to  the 
estate  for  ever  so  many  years,  and  Lord  Wharton  placed  the 
fullest  confidence  in  him— though  he  never  made  a  friend  of 
him.  But  he  made  no  friends  of  any  one.  And  you  did  not 
like  Mr.  Sapley 's  face?" 

Mrs.  Lexton  gave  a  feminine  little  shudder. 

"  It  isn't  of  any  consequence,  Claire,"  she  said. 

"  I  suppose  he  is  not  particularly  pleasant  looking;  but  I 
have  got  used  to  him,  and  his  countenance  doesn't  impress 
me  as  it  has  impressed  you.  Use  is  everything." 

"  Who  is  Mordaunt?"  asked  Mrs.  Lexton.     "  His  clerk?" 

"  No;  his  son,"  replied  Claire,  indifferently.  "  I  have 
seen  very  little  of  him.  He  has  just  come  from  Oxford,  I 
believe." 

Mrs.  Lexton  gazed  at  her  companion  in  a  half-bewildered 
way;  she  remembered  her  a  girl,  all  legs  and  wings,  stooping 
over  an  exercise-book  in  a  cheap  sea-side  lodging,  and  the 
change,  not  only  in  Claire's  circumstances,  but  in  her  form, 
face,  and  manner,  confused  the  timid  woman. 

As  they  re-entered  the  house,  by  a  door  opening  into  the 
back  hall,  a  bell  rang  somewhere  above  them. 

"  That  is  the  dressing-bell,"  said  Claire.  "  You  will  not 
need  to  make  an  elaborate  toilet,  Mary;  we  are,  of  course, 
quite  alone.  Can  you  find  your  way  down  to  the  drawing- 
room — see,  this  is  it — or  shall  I  come  and  fetch  you?" 

When  Mrs.  Lexton  came  down,  she  found  Claire  awaiting 
her  in  a  drawing-room  of  vast  proportions,  and  decorated  in 
dull  white  and  gold,  with  furniture  and  hangings  of  amber 
and  sea-blue.  The  room  was  magnificently  striking;  but 
Claire  was  still  more  striking  as  she  stood  by  the  window, 
looking  at  the  falling  sun.  Her  maid  had,  perhaps  in  honor 
of  the  visitor,  clothed  her  in  a  plain  but  rich  black  silk,  th» 


THE  MI8TKESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  15 

soft  texture  of  which  draped  her  graceful  figure  to  perfection. 
The  maid  had  also  fastened  a  diamond  ornament  in  the  dark 
hair,  and  placed  a  red  rose  in  the  bosom  of  the  dress.  Claire 
was  quite  unconscious  of  the  effect  she  produced — indeed,  she 
scarcely  knew  what  she  wore — as  she  came  forward,  quite 
simply,  and  drew  her  friend's  arm  through  hers  as  the  butler 
announced  dinner. 

The  dining-room  was  not  particularly  large,  but  it  was 
famous  for  its  old  oak  and  its  pictures  and  plate,  and  im- 
pressed Mrs.  Lexton,  even  more  perhaps  than  any  other  part 
of  the  house  had  done.  The  dinner  was  not  an  elaborate  one, 
as  dinners  go  nowadays,  but  its  courses  seemed  endless  to  the 
faded  woman,  for  whom  a  chop  or  a  sole  had  hitherto  amply 
sufficed  for  her  principal  meal;  and  the  noiseless  ministra- 
tions of  the  stately  butler  and  the  two  tall  footmen  made 
her  for  a  time  nervous  and  constrained;  but,  aided  by  Claire's 
quiet  and  perfect  self-possession,  Mrs.  Lexton  succeeded  in 
dispelling  her  feeling  of  shyness,  and  the  two  friends  talked 
freely,  and  enjoyed  their  meal.  But  all  through  it  Mrs.  Lex- 
ton's  wonder  at  the  change  in  Claire  remained  with  her. 

When  they  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  Claire  took  her 
by  the  arms,  and  gently  forced  her  into  a  deep-seated  chair. 

"  Now  you  shall  rest,  Mary,  and  I  will  play  to  you,"  she 
said.  "  I  must  have  tired  you  out  with  my  talking." 

Mrs.  Lexton  leaned  back  in  the  luxurious  chair  with  a  sigh 
of  content,  and  Claire  went  to  the  piano.  As  she  played 
softly,  she  was  thinking  of  the  past,  which  the  presence  of 
this  middle-aged  cousin  of  hers  had  brought  back  so  plainly. 
She  had  been  left  an  orphan  in  Mary  Lexton's  charge,  and 
had  been  brought  up  by  her  until  the  day  Lord  Wharton  had 
suddenly  remembered  his  very  distant  relation,  Claire  Sar- 
toris,  and  had  sent  for  her. 

She  went  on  playing  for  a  time,  almost  forgetful  of  her 
auditor,  and  when  she  presently  looked  round  she  found  that 
Mrs.  Lexton  had  fallen  asleep.  She  rose  softly,  and  stood 
looking  down  at  her  for  a  moment  or  two,  then  she  went  to 
the  open  window,  and  stood  gazing  over  the  lawns.  It  was 
still  light,  a  rosy  light  from  the  sunset,  and  Claire,  taking  a 
small  Indian  shawl  from  a  chair,  put  it  over  her  head,  gypsy 
fashion,  and  went  down  the  steps  into  the  garden. 

She  wandered  slowly  between  the  flower-beds,  picking  a 
blossom  now  and  again,  intending  to  make  a  posy  for  Mrs. 
Lexton,  who  was  passionately  fond  of  flowers.  And  with  a 
bunch  in  her  hand,  she  strolled  aimlessly  along  the  smooth 
path  toward  the  wood,  which  ran  to  the  verge  of  the  garden. 


16  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGJTA. 

The  shadowy  coolness  under  the  trees  tempted  her  co  enter, 
an  1  she  passed  into  the  twilight  made  by  the  thick,  overhang- 
ing  boughs. 

A  little  way  into  the  wood  was  a  small  arbor,  raised  above 
the  path  by  a  mound;  and  she  went  into  it  and  sat  down,  and 
began  to  arrange  the  flowers.  She  had  not  been  there  many 
minutes  when  she  heard  footsteps,  and,  looking  down,  she 
saw  a  young  man  walking  along  the  path  in  the  direction  of 
the  house. 

He  was  not  a  bad-looking  young  fellow,  and  wore  a  riding- 
suit  not  altogether  ungracefully;  though  he  did  not  carry  his 
head  very  well,  and  was  rather  round-shouldered.  Claire 
knew  him — it  was  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley. 

As  he  came  abreast  of  the  arbor  he  stopped,  and,  looking 
round,  whistled  and  called  "  Trap,  Trap!"  and  Claire,  bend- 
ing forward,  saw  a  fox  terrier  pup  playing  amongst  the  brake 
at  a  little  distance.  It  was  so  engrossed  in  sniffing  out  the 
rabbits,  that  it  either  did  not  hear  its  master's  call,  or  ignored 
it;  and  Claire  saw  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley's  face  grow  impa- 
tient, and  then  angry. 

At  that  moment  Claire  was  struck  by  a  certain  resemblance 
in  the  son's  face  to  his  father's.  She  had  always  thought — if 
she  had  thought  about  it  at  all — that  Mr.  Mordaunt  was 
rather  good-looking;  but  at  that  moment  he  looked  ugly  and 
repellent. 

He  called  the  pup  two  or  three  times,  and  with  an  oath. 
The  dog  came  at  last — came  cringingly.  Mordaunt  picked  it 
up  by  the  scruff  of  its  neck,  and,  holding  it  aloft,  lashed  it 
cruelly  with  his  riding-whip. 

The  wi  etched  little  animal  shrieked  piteously;  and  Claire, 
crimson  with  indignation,  sprung  to  her  feet,  and  had  gained 
the  door  of  the  arbor,  with  the  intention  of  rushing  down  to 
rescue  the  dog,  when  some  one  sprung  from  the  opposite 
bank,  and,  alighting  almost  on  the  top  of  Mr.  Mordaunt, 
•natohed  both  dog  and  whip  from  his  grasp,  and  sent  him 
backward  against  a  tree. 

Claire  stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  her  hands  clinched  at  her 
side,  a  thrill  of  womanly  satisfaction  and  delight  stirring 
through  every  vein. 

The  new-comer  was  a  young  man  of  stalwart  proportions, 
and,  as  he  confronted  Mr.  Mordaunt,  of  more  than  usually 
imposing  appearance.  His  face  was  red,  under  a  coating  o* 
tan,  and  a  pair  of  brown  eves  flashed  with  ominous  fierceness 
•nto  Mr.  Mordaunt's  small  ones.  With  a  woman's  quickness. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  17 

Claire  noticed  that  his  tweed  suit  was  worn  and  travel-stained, 
and  that  his  boots  were  covered  with  dust. 

She  waited  and  watched  intently.  The  new-comer  patted 
the  dog  with  a  gentleness  which,  coming  after  his  furious 
onslaught,  surprised  Claire,  and  set  it  down;  then  he  bent 
Mr.  Mordaunt's  whip  until  it  snapped  in  twain,  and  flung  the 
pieces  at  that  gentleman's  feet. 

"  I  should  advise  you  not  to  buy  another,  sir/'  he  said, 
"  until  you  have  learned  how  to  use  it,  or,  rather,  how  not  to 
use  it." 

His  tone  was  almost  a  calm  one,  though  his  eyes  were  still 
flashing,  and  the  strongly  cut  lips  were  still  quivering.  Mr. 
Mordaunt  picked  up  his  hat  and  glared  at  him. 

"  Who  the  devil  are  you  9"  he  demanded,  with  suppressed 
passion. 

"  And  who  the  devil  are  you  ?"  said  the  other,  and  still 
more  calmly.  "  But  don't  trouble  yourself;  I'm  not  particu- 
larly anxious  to  know  the  name  of  a  man  who  is  cur  enough 
to  beat  a  young  dog  as  you  were  beating  that  pup." 

"  D — n  your  impudence!"  snarled  Mr.  Mordaunt,  pushing 
his  white  face  forward,  and  clinching  and  unclinching  his 
fist.  "  How  dare  you  interfere  with  me?  What  right  have 
you  to  interfere?  The  dog's  mine,  and  I've  a  right  to  beat 
it,  if  I  choose,  without  being  called  to  account — to  say  nothing 
of  being  insulted — by  every  accursed  tramp!" 

"  The  dog  may  be  yours,"  said  the  stranger,  now  perfectly 
calm;  "  but  I  question  your  right  to  beat  it  as  you  were 
doing,  and  every  tramp  would  be  justified  in  stepping  in  to 
the  rescue.  Why,  you  coward!  you  ought  to  thank  me  for 
letting  you  off  so  easily!  You  would,  if  you  knew  how  hard 
it  was  for  me  to  hold  my  hand.  Thank  your  stars  that  I 
broke  your  whip  across  my  knee,  instead  of  across  your  back, 
as  you  deserved!" 

Mr.  Mordaunt's  face  was  an  excellent  study  for  a  painter 
who  wished  to  portray  Impotent  Rage. 

"  You — you  are  an  insolent  scoundrel!"  he  said,  hoarsely. 
"  What  are  you  doing  here?  You've  no  right  here;  this  is 
private  ground,  and  you  are  trespassing!" 

"  That  may  be,"  said  the  other;  "  and  if  you  are  not  the 
owner,  I  will  apologize.  If  you  are,  please  understand  that  I 
hold  myself  justified  in  trespassing  anywhere  to  protect  a 
helpless  dog  from  a  cowardly  cad!" 

The  last  word  struck  home,  as  a  true  word  always  does.  Mr. 
Mordaunt,  forgetting  discretion  in  his  fury,  sprung  forward 
with  uplifted  hand.  The  stranger  waited,  without  moving  a 


18  1HE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

muscle,  until  Mr.  Mordaunt's  arm  was  within  reach;  ihen  he 
grasped  it,  and,  in  an  extraordinary  fashion,  Mr.  Mordaunt 
Sapley  found  himself  lying  on  his  back,  staring  up  at  the  tree, 
as  if  he  had  lost  all  interest  in  the  a  flair.  He  had,  in  fact, 
been  thrown  down  so  suddenly  and  violently  as  to  knock  the 
genses  out  of  him  for  a  time.  His  opponent  looked  down  at 
him  for  a  minute  with  a  grave  smile,  then  he  touched  him 
with  his  foot. 

"  Get  up!"  he  said,  quietly.  "  The  next  time  you  feel  par- 
ticularly anxious  to  strike  a  man,  have  your  left  ready  to  guard. 
Why,  man,  if  I  had  liked,  I  could  have  knocked  you  through 
the  trunk  of  that  tree,  instead  of  laying  you  gently  on  your 
back.  Get  up,  for  Heaven's  sake!  Here  is  your  hat,"  and 
he  rolled  it  forward  with  his  foot. 

Mr.  Mordaunt  got  up  on  his  legs — they  seemed  rather 
unsteady — and  glared  sullenly  under  his  brows  at  his  opponent. 

"  I'll — I'll  trouble  you  for  your  name  and  address!  You 
will  pay  for  this!  You've  committed  a  brutal  assault!" 

"  That's  true,"  acquiesced  the  strange  young  man. 
"  We've  both  committed  a  brutal  assault — on  a  puppy."  He 
smiled.  "  But  you  want  my  name;  you  shall  have  it.  It's 
Gerald  Wayre.  I'm  staying  in  the  village,  where  you  can 
serve  me  with  any  summons  or  process  of  the  law  you  please." 

Mr.  Mordaunt  fumbled  for  his  pocket-book,  and,  with  a 

freat  show  of  calmness,  proceeded  to  write  down  the  name; 
nt  his  hands  trembled  so,  that  he  dropped  the  pencil.     And 
the  stranger,  with  a  half-pitying,  half-contemptuous  smile, 
picked  it  up  for  him.     Mr.  Mordaunt  snatched  it  from  his 
hand. 

'*  How  do  you  sp^ll  it?"  he  snarled. 

"  I  always  spell  it,  W-a-y-r-e;  but  you  can  spell  it  as  you 
like.  I've  a  notion  you  won't  forget  it." 

14  You  will  hear  from  me,"  repeated  Mr.  Mordaunt.  "  I 
shall  summon  you  for  trespass  and  assault.  My  name  is—" 

"  Don't  trouble,"  said  the  stranger;  "  I'm  not  at  all 
anxious  to  know  your  name— in  fact,  the  less  I  know  about 
yon  the  better  I  shall  be  pleased." 

1  Leave  these  grounds!"  said  Mr.  Mordaunt. 

"  Presently,  when  I've  lighted  my  pipe,"  was  the  response. 
4  Meanwhile,  I  should  advise  you  to  go  home  as  quickly  aa 
possible,  and  rub  your  back  with  embrocation,  or  you  won't 
be  able  to  move  to-morrow,  and  that  would  be  a  pity." 

With  a  stifled  oath,  and  a  look  of  malignant  fury,  Mr.  Mor- 
daunt departed. 

The  victor,  left  in  possession  of  the  field,  seated  himself  on 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  19 

the  bank,  and  taking  out  a  pipe,  slowly  and  carefully  filled  it 
and  lighted  it,  and  as  carefully  stamped  out  the  match  with 
his  heel,  in  case  it  should  ignite  the  dry  bracken. 

Claire  had  stood  motionless  during  the  whole  of  the  scene, 
which  was  the  most  dramatic  she  had  ever  witnessed.  She 
stood  motionless  still,  being,  naturally,  desirous  of  concealing 
her  presence.  But  presently  she  was  somewhat  startled  by 
seeing  something  moving  at  her  feet.  It  was  nothing  more 
terrible  than  the  poor  little  fox  terrier,  creeping  up  to  her  for 
protection  and  consolation. 

She  stooped  as  softly  and  noiselessly  as  possible,  and 
picked  it  up  in  her  arms,  where  it  nestled  closely,  still  trem- 
bling, and  pressing  its  soft  head  against  her  warm  throat. 

Cautiously  as  she  had  bent  down,  the  sharp  eyes  of  the 
young  man  had  seen  some  movement.  He  looked  up,  and,  as 
he  saw  her  standing  in  the  half  light — a  vision  of  loveliness, 
and  grace,  and  dignity — his  brown  eyes  opened  to  their  fullest 
extent,  and  he  held  his  pipe  rigidly  suspended  away  from  his 
lips.  Astonishment  held  him  in  thrall. 

Their  eyes  met,  and  the  color  began  slowly  to  rise  to  the 
ivory  of  her  face.  Would  he  speak — come  toward  her? 

He  did  neither.  Lowering  his  eyes  slowly,  he  rose  and 
stretched  himself,  with  an  exaggerated  air  of  ease,  as  if  he 
wished  to  convey  to  her  the  impression  that  he  had  not  seen 
her.  Then  he  put  on  his  hat,  yawned  slowly,  and  moved 
away. 

Claire  drew  a  long  breath.  If  she  had  had  any  doubt 
about  it  before,  the  doubt  was  now  dispelled,  and  she  knew 
for  certain  that  the  man  was  a  gentleman.  Nothing  could 
have  been  better  done  than  his  affectation  of  not  having  seen 
her.  It  was  the  perfection  of  delicacy. 

She  waited  for  a  few  minutes,  feeling  relieved,  and — must  ifc 
be  admitted? — vaguely  disappointed,  by  his  departure.  Then, 
with  the  puppy  still  in  her  arms,  she  went  quickly  to  the 
house. 

She  gave  the  dog  to  a  groom,  and  told  him  to  lock  it  up, 
and  that  she  would  see  it  in  the  morning,  and  then  she  went 
into  the  drawing-room  where  Mrs.  Lexton,  awake  from  her 
slumber,  was  half  nervously  awaiting  her. 

"  I  fell  asleep,  dear — I'm  so  sorry!"  she  said. 

"But  I'm  very  glad/'  said  Claire.  "It  is  the  rery  best 
thing  you  could  have  done  after  your  long  journey.  We  will 
have  some  tea  now;  or  would  you  prefer  coffee?" 

"  It  seems  so  rude  of  me  to  fall  asleep  the  very  first  even- 
ing," said  Mrs.  Lezton,  with  e^lf-reproach.  *'  Have  vou  been 


20  THE   JllSSTKi::;S   OF  COUKT   KKGNA. 

iuto  the  garden?"  glancing  at  the  shawl  which  Claire  hod 
thrown  on  a  chair. 

"  Yes;  it  is  beautiful  out  to-night- 
Mrs.  Lexton  interrupted  her  with  an  exclamation. 

"  Claire!    Your  diamond  ornament!" 

Claire  put  her  hand  up  to  her  hair.    The  epray  was  missing. 

It  was  a  valuable  piece  of  jewelry,  and,  for  a  moment,  she 
was  filled  with  consternation;  and  then,  desirous  of  relieving 
Mrs.  Lexton's  anxiety,  she  said,  lightly: 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right." 

"  You  took  it  off  before  yon  went  out?"  said  Mrs.  Lexton. 
*''  That  was  wise,  dear." 

While  they  were  at  their  tea,  a  footman  entered. 

"  A  gentleman  wishes  to  know  if  he  can  see  you,  miss?"  he 
said. 

"  A  gentleman?    What  is  his  name?" 

"  He  did  not  give  it  me,  miss.  He  said  you  wouldn't  know 
it.  He  apologized  for  coming  so  late;  but  said  it  was  impor- 
tant business,  and  that  he  would  not  detain  you  for  more  than 
a  minute.  He  is  in  the  library." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Claire. 

She  poured  out  another  cup  of  tea  for  Mrs.  Lexton;  then 
rose,  and  with  a  glance  at  her  hair,  and  that  little  touch  which 
the  least  vain  of  women  seem  bound  to  bestow  upon  it  on  such 
occasions,  went  into  the  library. 

The  principal  actor  in  the  melodrama  of  the  wood  was 
standing  under  the  candelabra,  and  on  the  table  in  front  of 
him  lay  her  diamond  spray. 


CHAPTER  III. 

IN  her  surprise,  Claire  started  slightly,  and  a  faint  color 
came  into  her  face.  The  young  man  regarded  her  gravely, 
and  inclined  his  head. 

Claire  saw  by  the  light  of  the  lamp  that  he  was  good-look- 
ing, if  not  actually  nandsome;  the  dark  eyes  looked  from 
under  level  brows;  there  was  a  slight  wave  to  the  short  hair; 
the  mouth  was  firm,  and  looked  rather  pugnacious,  and  the 
square  chin  carried  on  the  impression.  In  short,  strength 
epoke  from  the  face  as  distinctly  as  it  proclaimed  itself  in  the 
figure. 

Claire  noticed,  also,  a  certain  air  of  pride  which  belonged 
to  face  and  manner.  For  instance,  though  the  inclination  of 
the  head  was  respectful  enough,  there  was  nothing  approach- 
ing the  senile  in  it,  but  a  kind  of  restraint  which  seemed  to 


MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  21 

intimate  that  the  young  man  considered  himself  to  be  in  thi 
presence  of  an  equal. 

All  this  Claire  took  in,  just  as  a  camera  takes  in  a  view,  in 
an  instant,  and  as  she  stood  waiting  for  him  to  speak. 

"  Miss  Sartoris?"  he  said. 

And  the  voice,  though  much  gentler  than  that  in  which  ha 
had  spoken  to  Mr.  Mordauut  Sapley,  was  grave,  and  not  with- 
out dignity. 

"  I  am  Miss  Sartoris,"  assented  Claire. 

"  I  have  to  apologize  for  disturbing  you  at  so  late  an  hour, 
Miss  Sartoris/'  he  said;  "but  I  found  this  ornament  in  the 
little  wood  or  spinny  over  yonder,  and,  guessing  that  it 
must  belong  to  you  or  some  lady  staying  at  the  house,  I 
thought  it  best  to  bring  it  here  at  once.  The  owner  would 
naturally  be  anxious  about  it." 

"  Thank  you;  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  Claire. 
"  It  belongs  to  me;  I  must  have  dropped  it  in  the  woods." 

He  did  not  say  "  I  saw  you  there;"  but  he  took  up  the 
spray,  and  looked  at  it  thoughtfully. 

"  They  are  diamonds,  and  of  great  value,  I  suppose?"  he 
said,  as  he  handed  it  to  her;  and  his  dark  eyes  sought  hers. 

Claire  took  the  ornament,  and  glanced  at  it  indifferently. 

"  Yes;  they  are  diamonds.     And  I  suppose  it  is  of  value." 

"  Then  Pm  very  glad  I  found  it,"  he  said.  "  Bui^-you'll 
forgive  me — must  it  not  have  been  very  insecurely  fastened 
for  you  to  have  dropped  it  without  knowing  it?" 

"  There  is  only  the  long  hair-pin  to  which  it  is  attached," 
said  Claire.  "  Will  you  not  sit  down?"  she  added. 

He  declined,  with  a  slight  movement  of  his  hand. 

"  I  will  not  detain  you,"  he  said.  "  I  was  only  going  to 
say  that  it  would  be  as  well  if  you  were  to  fasten  it  more 
securely  for  the  future.  Some  man  as  poor,  but  a  little  more 
dishonest,  may  pick  it  up  next  time,  and  then — " 

He  smiled. 

Claire  colored,  but  smiled,  too. 

"  I  am  afraid  one  is  very  careless  about  such  things,"  she 
said,  "  and  deserves  to  lose  them;  but  I  didn't  make  the 
thing,  and  " — she  looked  at  it — "  I  am  sure  I  don't  know 
how  to  fasten  it  more  securely." 

"  Permit  me,"  he  said,  and  held  out  his  hand. 

He  examined  the  long  double  pin. 

"  Nothing  could  be  easier,"  he  said.  "  You  have  only  to 
fix  a  couple  of  small  screws  or  nuts  on  the  ends  of  these  pins 
when  you've  placed  the  ornament  in  your  hair." 

"  That  would  be  a  great  deal  of  trouble,"  said  Claire. 


2V  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted;  "  almost  as  much  trouble  as  looking 
for  it  when  it  is  lost.  Bat,  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  am  pre- 
suming to  offer  you  advice  which  I'm  afraid  is  not  very 
valuable." 

Claire's  eloquent  lips  parted  with  a  smile. 

"  I  don't  think  it  is,"  she  said.  "  No  one  could  possibly 
fasten  screws  on  this  thing  when  it  was  once  in  the  hair." 

He  laughed,  and  it  was  a  very  pleasant  little  laugh,  as  frank 
as  his  eyes. 

"  I  might  have  known  I  was  presuming,"  he  said. 
was  the  old  business  of  '  fools  rushing  in  where  angels  feared 
to  tread.'    My  only  excuse  is  that  I  meant  well. "    He  took  a 
step  toward  the  door  as  he  spoke. 

"  No  excuse  is  necessary,"  said  Claire.  "  It  was  very  kind 
of  you  to  make  the  suggestion;  and  I  am  grateful  to  you, 
both  for  it  and  the  restoration  of  my  spray.  Will  you  tell 
me  to  whom  I  owe  my  thanks?"  she  added,  with  a  certain 
timidity  which  made  her  voice  sound  graver  than  the  occasion 
required. 

He  stopped  and  looked  at  her  steadily. 

"  My  name  is  Gerald  Wayre,"  he  said.  "  I  have  to  offer 
yon  an  apology  for  trespassing,"  he  went  on.  "  I  was  on  the 
way  this  evening  to  the  village,  and  I  was  tempted  to  stray  off 
the  footpath  into  the  wood.  I  am  aware  that  in  these  parts 
wanton  trespass  approaches  a  capital  offense;  but  I  hope  you'll 
forgive  me. 

Claire  smiled. 

"  On  this  occasion  the  trespass  was  a  very  fortunate  one  for 
me,"  she  said.  "  If  you  had  not  gone  into  the  wood  you 
would  not  have  found  my  spray." 

She  waited  a  moment  to  see  if  he  would  refer  to  the  quarrel 
with  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley,  and  admit  that  he  had  seen  her; 
but  as  he  did  not  do  so,  she  added: 

"  Are  you  staying  in  the  village?" 

"  Yes,  for  a  short  time,"  he  said. 

Claire  was  conscious  of  a  singular  curiosity  respecting  him; 
singular  because,  as  a  rule,  she  felt  little  curiosity  about  any 
one. 

"  You  are  an  artist?"  she  asked. 

He  hesitated  a  moment 

"  Well,  I  suppose  an  architect  is  something  of  an  artist," 
he  said. 

"  You  are  an  architect?" 

'  Yes,  1  suppose  I  mav  say  so,"  he  replied,  "  though  I 
have  not  architected  much,    I  am  studying  the  business.     It 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGffA.  23 

is  a  good  excuse  for  wandering  about,  and  staring  at  buildings 
old  and  new,  hideous  and  otherwise." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  not  find  anything  very  interesting  in 
Regna,"  said  Claire. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said,  as  if  he  were  not  so  certain. 
"  There's  an  old  ruin  on  the  hill  over  there  which  looks  worth 
interviewing." 

"  It  is  St.  Anne's  Chapel,"  said  Claire,  quickly.  Of 
course,  it  belonged  to  her.  "  If  you  would  like  to  examine  is 
I  will  give  you  the  key;  the  entrance  gate  is  locked.  I  had 
forgotten  the  chapel.  But  there  is  nothing  else,  I  think." 

"  No;  excepting  this  house,"  he  said.  "  Thank  you  very 
much  for  the  key;  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  it." 

"  Is  this  house  interesting?"  asked  Claire. 

"  Oh,  yes;  a  portion  of  it,"  he  said.  "  It  is  almost  unique 
in  its  way." 

"  I  did  not  know  it,"  she  remarked.  "  If  you  would  like 
to  examine  it,  to  take  sketches,  or — or  whatever  it  is  you  do, 
please  do  so." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  he  said.  "  But  I'm  afraid  I  should 
be  somewhat  of  a  nuisance,  should  I  not?  It  is  not  as  if  the 
house  were  unoccupied." 

"  That  does  not  matter,"  said  Claire.  "  I  suppose  you 
allude  to  the  old  wing?" 

"  Yes,"  he  assented. 

"  That  is  almost  unoccupied,"  said  Claire,  "  and  you  are 
quite  at  liberty  to  examine  it." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said  again.  "  I  should  like  to  do  so 
some  day,  when  there  is  no  chance  of  my  being  a  nuisance.  I 
will  wish  you  good-night  now,  Miss  Sartoris. " 

They  went  into  the  hall  together;  and  Claire  suddenly 
remembered,  and  said : 

"Oh!  if  you'll  wait  a  moment,  I  will  fetch  the  key  for 
you." 

She  disappeared;  and,  left  alone,  he  stood  with  his  hands 
behind  him,  and  looked  round  the  hall  with  the  quick,  com- 
prehensive glance  of  an  artist.  Then  he  turned  his  eyes  and 
watched  her  as  sbe  came  down  the  stairs. 

The  beauty  of  her  face,  the  grace  and  refinement  of  her 
figure,  seemed  exquisitely  appropriate  to  their  surroundings. 
She  had  thrust  the  diamond  spray  into  her  hair,  as  if  glad  to 
get  it  back,  and  under  this  her  eyes  shone  softly,  and  with  a 
half -pleased,  though  grave,  expression.  An  old  iron  key  hung 
upon  her  white  forefinger. 

"  There  is  the  key,"  she  said.     "  I  hope  you  will  find  the 


M  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGNA. 

chapel  interesting  enough  to  repay  you  for  the  trouble  of  a 
visit" 

"  Thank  you/'  he  said  once  again;  '  I  will  send  the  key 
back."  And,  with  another  "  good-night,"  he  went  out. 

Claire  stood  where  he  had  left  her  for  quite  a  couple  of 
minutes.  She  seldom  met  strangers,  and  visitors  were  very 
rare  indeed  at  the  Court,  and  this  adventure — for  it  might 
almost  be  called  an  adventure — was  an  event  in  her  life.  She 
recalled  his  face  and  his  manner,  the  first  so  handsome,  the 
latter  so  full  of  a  kind  of  pride  and  frank  brusqueness. 

Suddenly  it  occurred  to  her  that  he  had  been  rather  magis- 
terial with  her;  he  had  scolded  her,  or  almost  scolded  her. 
And  she — had  she  not  been  rather  too  free  with  a  perfect 
stranger?  At  the  thought  the  color  rose  to  her  pale  face. 
She  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  and,  in  answer  to  Mrs. 
Lexton's  glance  of  interrogation,  said: 

"  It  was  some  one  to  see  me  on — business."  She  broke  off 
with  a  smile.  "  Oh!  I'd  better  tell  you,  Mary!  I  had  lost 
my  spray,  and  it  was  found  by  this  young  man  who  brought 
it." 

Mrs.  Lexton  laughed. 

"  My  dear  Claire!  You  had  really  lost  it?  How  lucky  to 
get  it  again — and  so  soon!  What  a  terrible  temptation  to 
anybody  finding  it!  What  was  the  young  man  like?  What 
is  his  name?" 

"  Oh!  he  is — just  a  young  man.  His  name  is  Gerald 
Wavre." 

Do  you  know  him?" 

"  No,*'  said  Claire. 

She  was  going  to  say,  "  I  have  never  seen  him  before,"  but 
remembered  the  scene  in  the  woods,  and  stopped. 

"  He  must  be  very  honest,"  said  Mrs.  Lexton.  "  That 
ornament  must  be  worth  a  couple  of  hundred  pounds." 

Claire  flushed  slightly. 

"  He  is  a  gentleman;  at  least,  I  think  so." 

Mrs.  Lexton  looked  at  her  curiously. 

"  I  mean  that  though  he  was  not  well  dressed— his  clothes 
were  not  new,  were  well  worn— he  looked  and  spoke  like  a 
gentleman." 

"t  He  i8 .8tavin&  here»  I  suppose?"  said  Mrs.  Lexton. 

ics;  in  the  village.     He  is  an  architect,  or  something  of 

the  kind,  and  is  traveling  to  study." 

She  did  not  tell  Mrs.  Lexton  that  she  had  given  him  the  key 
St.  Anne's  Chapel;  for  again  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  hod 

own  too  free  with  a  stranger,  and  she  changed  the  subject. 


THE  MISTKESS  OF  COUKT  REGtfA.  35 

They  sat  and  talked  for  some  little  time,  and  then  Claire 
insisted  upon  Mrs.  Lexton  going  to  bed. 

After  the  elder  woman  had  gone,  Claire  stood  by  the  win- 
dow, looking  out  at  the  night;  and,  notwithstanding  the 
arrival  of  her  friend,  the  feeling  of  loneliness  still  remained 
with  her.  She  went  to  the  piano  and  touched  the  keys  softly, 
but  all  through  the  music  she  heard  Gerald  Wayre's  voice. 
And  she  was  angry  with  herself  for  not  being  able  to  forget 
him. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

GERALD  WAYRE  lighted  his  pipe,  and  walked  through  the 
garden  and  down  the  steep  village  street,  until  he  almost 
reached  the  beach;  then,  turning  to  the  right,  he  stopped 
before  a  thatched  cottage  inn  where  he  lodged.  An  old  fish- 
erman, as  round  as  a  tub  and  as  fat  as  a  porpoise,  sat  on  a 
seat  against  the  cottage  wall,  and  in  a  perfect  bower  of  roses. 
He  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  touched  his  hat  to 
Gerald. 

"  Been  for  a  stroll,  sir?"  he  said.  "  It's  a  grand  night  for 
a  walk." 

"  Yes,"  said  Gerald;  and  he  sat  down  beside  Captain 
Hawker — nearly  every  man  in  Eegna  was  called  "  captain  " — 
and,  tilting  his  hat  back,  looked  at  the  moonlit  sea. 

"  That's  a  fine  house  you  have  up  on  the  hill,  Captain 
Hawker,"  he  said. 

"  Meanin'  the  Court,  sir?"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  nod. 
"  Yes,  it  be;  it's  the  grandest  house  in  these  parts,  and  we're 
all  on  us  mighty  proud  on  it." 

"  And  justifiably,"  said  Gerald.  "  To  whom  does  it 
belong?" 

"  To  the  young  lady  as  lives  there,  Miss  Sartoris,"  said 
Captain  Hawker.  "It  did  belong  to  Loj^l  Wharton,  but  he 
left  it  to  her.  She's  the  landlady  of  all  of  us,  as  you  may  say, 
and  quite  like  a  queen  here." 

"  Do  you  see  much  of  her?"  asked  Gerald. 

"  She  comes  down  along  now  and  again,  sir;  but  not  very 
often,  an'  mostly  in  the  evenin'.  She's  a  very  kind-hearted 
young  lady,  but  a  bit  proud-like,  as  she's  reason  to  be,  you 
may  say.  She  ain't  one  of  those  ladies  as  pokes  their  nose 
into  cottages  with  tracts  and  advice;  ain't  familiar  in  any 
way,  indeed;  but  she's  good  to  the  poor,  and  has  always  a 
pleasant  word  for  the  children." 

Gerald  smiled.     The  rough  picture  seemed  to  hit  off  the 


g(J  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

stately  girl,  with  the  clear  oval  face  and  dark-gray  eyes,  quits 
exactly. 

"  And  does  she  live  in  that  big  place  alone?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir;  at  least,  she  did,  but  I'm  told  as  there  is  a  lady 
oome  to  stop  with  her." 

"  Poor  girl!"  said  Gerald  to  himself. 

The  captain  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  and  looked  at 
him  with  some  surprise. 

"  '  Poor/  sir,  did  you  say,  beggin'  your  pardon?  She's  as 
rich  as  Creases;  simply  rollin'  in  money." 

"  Just  so!"  said  Gerald.  "  I  meant  that  it  was  a  great 
responsibility." 

'  Ah,  yes,  sir,"  said  Captain  Hawker.  "  I  see  what  you 
mean— the  estate  and  all  that;  but  Mr.  Sapley  looks  after 
that;  he's  the  agent  as  we  pays  our  rents  to,  and  manages  the 
estate." 

At  that  moment  a  young  girl  came  out  of  the  cottage  door, 
a  girl  with  a  pretty  and  rather  delicate  face,  with  soft  brown 
hair,  and  soft  brown  eyes,  and  soft  red  lips.  She  was  neatly 
dressed  in  a  frock  of  gray  merino,  by  no  means  badly  made. 
She  was  Lucy  Hawker,  the  captain's  daughter. 

"  Hasn't  Mr.  Wayre  come  back,  father?"  she  asked.  "  His 
supper  is  ready,  and  spoiling." 

Gerald  rose;  and  she  started,  and  the  color  flew,  in  good, 
honest  fashion,  to  her  pretty  face. 

"  Here  I  am,  Miss  Lucy,'*  said  Gerald,  "  and  spoiling  for 
the  supper." 

He  entered  the  sitting-room,  upon  which  the  outer  door 
opened,  and  found  a  plain  but  well-cooked  meal  awaiting 
him.  There  were  fresh  herrings — Regna  is  famous  for  its 
herrings — mutton  cutlets — Downshire,  in  which  Regna  is 
situated,  is  famous  for  its  mutton — a  junket,  and  strawberry 
jam. 

Lucy  waited  upon  him,  with  downcast  eyes,  and  a  timid 
little  smile  playing  about  the  corners  of  her  lips,  as  if  she 
enjoyed  his  enjoyment  of  the  fare.  Now  and  again  he  spoke 
to  her. 

"  If  you  treat  me  so  well,  Miss  Lucy,"  he  said,  as  he  helped 
himself  to  a  second  serve  of  junket,  "  I  shall  never  want  to 
leave  Regna." 

The  girl  flushed  with  pleasure. 

"  I'm  glad  you're  pleased,  sir,"  she  said;  and  her  voice 
grew  as  soft  as  her  hair,  or  her  eyes,  or  her  lips. 

"  Pleased?  Who  wouldn't  be?  My  dear  Miss  Lucy,  it's  a 
supper  fit  for  a  prince.  If  you  only  knew  what  suppers  I  have 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  27 

eaten — a  crust  of  dry  bread  in  the  Pyrenees,  half  a  watermelon 
in  Naples,  a  slice  of  buffalo-hump  in  the  Rockies,  a  basin  of 
porridge  in  the  Trossachs,  a  steak  of  cod  in  Newfoundland — " 

"  You  seem  to  have  been  everywhere,  sir,"  she  said. 

"  Very  nearly,"  he  assented,  carelessly.  "  But  in  no  place 
where  the  cooking  is  better  done,  and  the  attendance  more 
charming." 

The  girl's  face  blushed  a  rosy  red  as  she  gathered  the  cloth 
together  in  her  hand,  and  left  the  room.  Gerald  lighted  his 
pipe,  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair  with  indolent  content,  and 
looked  round  him. 

In  one  corner  of  the  room  was  an  easel;  a  couple  of  guns, 
and  as  many  fishing-rods,  stood  on  brackets  on  the  wall;  a 
small  pile  of  books  was  upon  a  side  table,  upon  which  also 
stood  a  box  of  instruments  used  by  architects.  A  thick 
mackintosh  hung  on  a  hook  behind  the  door;  waders  and  fish- 
ing-boots stood  in  a  corner  of  the  room.  Gerald  looked  at 
them  all  in  indolent  content,  then  he  drew  a  large  and  rusty 
key  from  his  pocket  and  looked  at  that,  and  as  he  looked  at 
it,  a  vision  of  the  pale  oval  face  rose  before  him,  and  he 
thought  of  Miss  Sartoris,  the  owner  of  Court  Regna. 

Presently,  as  if  the  contemplation  of  her  wealth  had  re- 
minded him  of  money  matters,  he  took  a  purse  from  his  pocket 
and  emptied  its  contents  upon  the  table.  There  were  five 
sovereigns,  a  few  shillings  and  a  few  coppers.  "  All  my 
worldly  wealth,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  It  will  not  last  me 
long,  and  then —  Ah,  well!  enough  for  the  day  is  the  evil 
thereof;"  and  he  rose  and  went  out  to  the  rough  terrace  over- 
looking the  sea,  and  smoked  the  pipe,  which  is  at  once  peace 
and  contentment  to  the  poor  in  pocket. 

About  the  same  time  Mr.  Sapley  sat  in  his  den,  bending 
over  some  deeds  and  papers.  He  had  built  for  himself  an 
ugly,  square  house  on  a  piece  of  land  just  outside  the  Regna 
estate,  so  as  to  be  well  in  sight  of  things;  and  he  had  also  an 
office  in  the  neighboring  town.  Mr.  Sapley  had  a  great  many 
houses  in  the  locality,  and  pieces  and  scraps  of  land  all  over 
the  place.  He  had  started  life  as  an  errand-boy  to  a  firm  of 
solicitors  in  Downshire,  had  worked  himself  up  in  the  usual 
way,  and  had  gradually  absorbed  his  former  employers'  busi- 
ness. Indeed,  Mr.  Sapley  had  a  knack  of  absorbing  things. 
It  is  a  very  useful  and  profitable  knack.  He  lent  money  to 
small  and  struggling  builders;  and  they  got  smaller,  and 
ceased  to  struggle.  Mr.  Sapley  absorbed  them.  Not  only 
small  builders  and  other  tradesmen,  but  people  of  more  con- 
sequence went  to  Mr.  Sapley  in  their  difficulties,  and,  sooner 


28  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGKA. 

or  late,  they  found  themselves  in  his  power,  and  Mr.  Sapley 
picked  their  bones. 

No  one  could  openly  accuse  him  of  dishonesty,  whatever 
they  thought.  He  always  went  to  work  in  a  strictly  legal 
fashion,  and  nightly  slept  the  sleep  of  the  just.  It  was  said 
that  he  cared  for  no  one  but  himself;  but  this  was  not  true. 
There  was  one  other  person  in  the  world  for  whom  he  had  au 
affection,  and  that  was  his  only  son,  Mordaunt.  It  was  for 
him  that  Mr.  Sapley  was  hoarding  up  money,  and  in  him  that 
his  ambition  centered.  He  had  sent  him  to  Oxford,  allowed 
him  a  liberal  allowance,  and  brought  him  up  to  think  himself 
some  one  of  importance.  And  Mr.  Sapley  intended  that  Mor- 
daunt should  be  some  one  of  importance.  Between  the  county 
families  and  a  country  solicitor  a  very  wide  gulf  yawns; 
Sapley  meant  his  son  to  cross  that  gulf,  meant  him  to  become 
"  county  family  "  himself. 

There  was  only  one  way  of  achieving  this  ambition,  and 
that  was  by  marrying  into  the  local  aristocracy.  The  local 
aristocracy  would  have  been  both  indignant  and  amused  if 
they  had  had  any  notion  of  Mr.  Sapley's  idea,  but  Mr. 
Sapley  was  cautious,  and  "  moled "  along  underground  in 
silence,  waiting  his  opportunity.  As  he  bent  over  his  papers — 
most  of  them  were  headed  "  Court  Regna  Estate  " — the  door 
opened  and  Mordaunt  entered.  He  had  washed  himself,  and 
brushed  the  dirt  from  his  clothes,  but  there  was  a  dark  mark 
on  his  face,  and  doubtless  several  others  on  various  parts  of 
his  body.  He  looked  sullen  and  ill-tempered,  and  scowled  as 
his  father  looked  up  with  a,  "  Well,  Mordaunt,  ready  for 
supper?" 

'it  does  not  much  matter  whether  I  am  or  not;  there's  no 
supper  ready.  This  house  is  shamefully  mismanaged.  Why 
don  t  you  get  a  decent  housekeeper  and  a  proper  staff  of 
servants,  instead  of  that  old  hag,  Prosser?" 

Mr.  Sapley  smiled,  and  showed  his  fang-like  teeth. 

"Prosser's  cheap,  Mordaunt.  The  more  servants,  the 
more  waste.  Supper  will  be  ready  directly.  Did  you  see 
Grimley?" 

'  Yes,"  replied  Mordaunt,  "  and  he  savs  he  can't  pay." 

;'  They  all  say  that,"  remarked  his  father. 

"  He  says  that  the  crops  have  been  bad,  and  he  has  had  a 
deal  of  sickness." 

'  They  all  say  that  also.  I'll  be  sworn  he  has  a  nest-egg 
put  a  way  on  the  sly;  and  it  does  not  matter  if  he  has  not- 
ing is  enough  stock  to  pay  us.  We  must  sell  him  upl 
M,. daunt." 


THE  MISTKES8  OF  COURT  REGITA..  29 

Mordaunt  nodded  callously  as  he  dropped  into  a  chair  and 
put  his  legs  on  another.  He  had  been  to  a  university  and 
associated  with  gentlemen,  but  his  speech  and  his  manners  were 
those  of  the  rampant  cad  when  he  was  alone  with  his  father, 
or  his  equals  and  inferiors.  It  is  a  question  whether  Oxford 
and  Cambridge  do  not  turn  out  more  cads  and  snobs  than  any 
other  educational  establishments,  especially  of  late  years, 
now  that  every  flourishing  tradesman  sends  his  son  to  "  col- 
lege," to  make  a  gentleman  of  him.  But  his  father  saw 
nothing  wrong,  and  looked  at  him  admiringly.  He  considered 
Mordaunt's  *'  free  and  easy  "  manners  quite  distinguished. 

"  There's  some  papers  I  wanted  you  to  glance  over,"  he 
said,  "  but  you  seem  tired.  What's  that  mark  on  your 
face?"  he  broke  off  to  ask. 

Mordaunt  reddened  resentfully. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  he  replied,  sullenly;  "  I  fell  down.  No, 
I  don't  feel  inclined  to  bother  with  anything  in  the  way  of 
business  to-night.  I  suppose  it's  something  connected  with 
the  Court  estate?  By  the  way,"  he  went  on  with  affected 
carelessness,  but  with  a  sidelong  glance  at  his  father,  "  why 
don't  these  infernal  keepers  keep  a  sharper  look-out  over  the 
place?  All  sorts  of  bounders  and  ragamuffins  are  trespassing 
on  the  grounds.  I  came  across  one  to-night,  and  he  was 
abusive,  the  scoundrel!  I  took  his  name,  and  I  was  half  a 
mind  to  give  him  a  good  thrashing.  I  shall  summon  him  to- 
morrow." 

"Better  not,"  said  Mr.  Sapley;  "I  don't  think  Miss 
Sartoris  would  like  it." 

"  I  suppose  we  manage  the  estate,  not  she,"  said  Mordaunt, 
insolently. 

Mr.  Sapley  pursed  his  lips. 

"  Yes;  that  is  true.  But  she  is  the  mistress,"  and  he 
showed  his  teeth.  "  It  wouldn't  do  to  offend  her.  She's 
very  different  to  the  old  lord;  you  could  do  what  you  liked 
with  him,  if  you  only  knew  how  to  manage  him;  and  I  think 
I  knew  that."  He  grinned  cunningly.  "It's  not  so  easy 
with  Miss  Sartoris." 

"  She  looks  quiet  enough,"  remarked  Mordaunt. 

Mr.  Sapley  shook  his  head. 

"  Looks  are  deceptive,  especially  with  women.  The  girl's 
got  a  will  of  her  own.  Only  yesterday  she  wouldn't  sign  the 
paper  to  eject  those  Styles;  and  she  doesn't  like  the  tourists 
and  excursionists  interfered  with.  Thinks  the  place  almost 
belongs  as  much  to  the  public  as  to  her.  No;  I  don't  think 
she  would  like  you  to  summon  any  one  for  trespass." 


90  THE  MISTHEfiS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

"  She  must  be  a  fool!"  said  Mordaimt,  elegantly. 

"  No,  she  isn't  a  fool,"  said  his  father,  looking  down  at  his 
papers  with  half-closed  eyes,  like  a  bird  of  prey  peering  at  the 
mangled  body  of  a  victim.  "  Oh,  no;  she's  not  a  fool;  and 
the  man  who  bought  her  for  one  would  lose  by  the  transac- 
tion. Women  are  deceptive,  Mordaunt;  you'd  know  that  if 
you'd  had  my  experience." 

"  She's  not  the  first  woman  I've  seen,"  remarked  Mor- 
daunt, under  his  breath. 

Mr.  Sapley  turned  his  papers  over  with  a  preoccupied  air, 
glancing  covertly  under  his  bushy  brows  at  his  sou's  sullen 
and  downcast  face. 

"  She's  a  good-looking  girl,  don't  you  think,  Mordaunt?" 

Mordaunt  yawned. 

"  Oh,  yes!    Good-looking  enough,"  he  said. 

"  How  do  you  get  on  with  her,  now?"  asked  Mr.  Sapley  in 
a  casual  kind  of  way. 

"Oh!  well  enough,"  replied  Mordaunt.  "  She's  rather  too 
proud  and  starchy  for  me.  I  hate  that  kind  of  thing!  She 
looks  at  me  as  if  she  scarcely  saw  me,  and  speaks  to  me  as  if 
I  were  a  kind  of  upper  servant.  I'm  an  Oxford  man  and  a 
gentleman;  and  I  tell  you  flat,  I  don't  like  it." 

Mr.  Sapley  shifted  uneasily  on  his  chair. 

"  Of  course,  of  course!"  he  said.  "  But  you  must  make 
allowances,  Mordy.  She's  not  only  the  owner  of  Court 
Regna,  but  a  distant  relation  of  Lord  Wharton  and  one  of  the 
county  families." 

"  Yes;  and  she  seems  to  remind  you  of  it  every  time  she 
speaks  to  you.  I  hate  your  county  families!  They  behave 
themselves  as  if  they  were  gods.  They  crow  loud  enough  on 
their  own  dunghills;  they'd  sing  a  great  deal  smaller  if  they 
were  up  in  London.  They'd  find  their  level  there." 

"  I  dare  say,"  assented  Mr.  Sapley;  "  but  they  are  gods  in 
their  own  places,  and  we've  got  to  pretend  to  kneel  and  wor- 
ship them — especially  when  we  make  money  out  of  them." 
He  touched  the  papers  caressingly. 

There  was  silence  for  a  minute  or  two,  during  which 
Mordaunt  rolled  himself  a  cigarette,  without  asking  permis- 
sion, and  blew  the  smoke  across  his  father's  face. 

"  She'll  be  expected  to  make  a  great  marriage,"  said  Mr. 
Sapley. 

I  dare  say,"  assented  Mordaunt. 

"  She's  a  very  beautiful  girl,  with  all  deference  to  you, 
Mordaunt;  and  she's  the  mistress  of  Regna.  She  might  aim 
yery  high." 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  81 

"  She  may  aim  as  high  as  a  prince,"  said  Mordaunt,  "  for 
all  I  care." 

Mr.  Sapley  eyed  him  curio  nsly. 

"  It  would  be  a  very  nice  thing  for  a  man  to  step  into/'  he 
said.  "  Kegna  is  almost  unique  in  its  way,  and  the  man  who 
married  her  would  be  quite  a  personage.  He'd  be  one  of  the 
connty  families. " 

"  I  dare  say,"  assented  Mordaunt,  again,  with  another  yawn. 

"  I  wonder  who  it  will  be?"  mused  Mr.  Sapley,  watching 
his  son's  face  still  covertly.  "  Miss  Sartoris  is  a  girl  who 
would  follow  her  own  fancy.  She  wouldn't  care  who  the  man 
was,  so  long  as  she  liked  him." 

Mordaunt  took  the  cigarette  from  his  lips,  and  looked  at  his 
father  with  a  little  more  attention. 

"  What  are  you  driving  at,  governor?"  he  asked. 

Mr.  Sapley  smiled  mysteriously,  and  shuffled  on  his  chair. 

"  I  was  just  thinking,  Mordy,"  he  said,  "  what  advantages 
you  have  got  compared  with  what  I  had.  I  began  life  in 
quite  an  humble  way;  I  can  remember  sweeping  out  Good- 
child's  office—" 

Mr.  Mordaunt,  the  Oxford  man,  reddened  resentfully. 

"  What's  the  use  of  going  back  to  all  that?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  swept  out  his  office,"  continued  Mr.  Sapley, 
looking  straight  before  him,  as  if  he  were  regarding  the  past. 
"  And  T  used  to  hold  Goodchild's  horse  when  he  went  for  a 
ride,  and  touch  my  hat  to  the  clients  when  they  gave  me  a 
shilling." 

Mr.  Mordaunt  moved  uneasily  on  his  chair. 

"  And  then  I  got  a  stool  at  one  of  the  desks,  and  addressed 
the  letters  and  copied  the  deeds.  I  must  have  had  a  head  on 
my  shoulders,  even  in  those  days,  for  I  remembered  what 
those  deeds  were  about.  I  could  recite  some  of  them  now. 
I  worked  my  way  up  to  confidential  clerk.  Old  Goodchild 
was  an  easy-going  fool,  as  well  as  old,  and  he  got  to  rely  on 
me;  he  had  to  make  me  partner.  I  got  the  business  into  my 
own  hands;  then  I  dissolved  partnership,  and  set  up  foi 
myself.  Nearly  all  the  business  followed  me.  Old  Goodchild 
retired  on  a  few  hundreds  a  year,  and  I  took  the  whole  of  his 
practice." 

"  What's  the  use  of  going  over  all  this?"  asked  Mordaunt. 

Mr.  Sapley  continued  as  if  his  elegant  son  had  not  inter- 
rupted him: 

"  It's  all  nonsense  to  say  a  man  struggles  hard;  it  all  came 
easy  to  me.  Before  I  was  five-and-twenty,  I  was  agent  to 
three  estates,  and  had  got  the  p'ractice  of  the  whole  place. 


32  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

Then  I  got  Court  Regna.  I'd  had  my  eye  on  that  for  a  long 
while,  for  1  knew  there  were  pickings  to  be  made  out  of  it. 
Lord  Wharton  never  interfered  with  anything,  and  I've  had 
it  all  my  own  way." 

He  touched  the  deeds  again  lovingly. 

"  What's  the  use — "  began  Mordaunt.  But  Mr.  Sapley 
continued: 

"  I'm  what  is  called  a  rich  man;  but,  as  you  said,  though 
you  meant  it  in  another  way,  what's  the  use?  All  the  gentry 
here  remember  me  sweeping  out  the  office  and  holding  the 
horses.  With  you  it's  different. " 

"  I  should  hope  so,"  muttered  Mordaunt,  dutifully,  under 
his  breath. 

"  You  are  an  Oxford  man  and  a  gentleman.  The  world's 
open  to  you;  you  can  look  up  boldly  to  things  that  I  could 
never  dare  lift  my  eyes  to.  You'll  be  a  rich  man,  Mor- 
daunt." And  the  man's  voice  grew  softly  triumphant,  in 
strange  discordance  with  his  hard,  vulture-like  face.  "  There's 
no  knowing  what  heights  you  could  climb  to.  Why,  you 
might—" 

He  glanced  at  Mordaunt  half  cunningly,  half  fearfully. 

"  What  are  you  driving  at?"  asked  Mordaunt,  again  under 
his  breath. 

Mr.  Sapley  pushed  the  papers  from  him  with  his  claw-like 
hand,  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"  There's  nothing  you  couldn't  attain  to.  I've  made  a 
geitleman  of  you;  you  haven't  swept  out  an  office,  or  held 
horses.  You've  got  the  college  manner  and  the  college  tone, 
and  you've  got  some  of  your  poor  mother's  good  looks.  It 
all  lies  within  your  grasp."  There  was  a  silence.  Mordaunt 
had  allowed  his  cigarette  to  go  out,  and  it  dropped  from  his 
fingers  as  he  stared  at  his  father's  hawk-like  face. 

"  What  are  you  driving  at?"  he  said,  under  his  breath. 

"  If  I  were  in  your  place,"  went  on  Mr.  Sapley,  ignoring 
the  question,  "  I  should  look  around  and  seek  my  oppor- 
tunity.    You're  young,  and  you've  got,  or  will  have,  money 
You  can  marry  well.     Here's  Court  Regna,  for  Distance." 

Mordaunt  sat  bolt  upright. 

"  Court  Regna?"  he  repeated,  in  amazement. 

Mr.  Sapley  glanced  at  him  with  a  cunning  smile. 

"  Court  Regna,"  he  repeated.  "  It's  owned  by  a  young 
girl — unmarried.  And  the  man  who  marries  her  will  step 
into  one  of  the  prettiest  properties  in  England,  will  become 
one  of  the  county  families." 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COTJBT  REGffA.  $3 

f "  Me  marry  Miss  Sartoris!"  exclaimed  Mordaunt,  forgetting 
his  grammar,  and  sitting  bolt  upright. 

'  Why  not?"  snarled  Mr.  Sapley,  bending  forward,  with 
his  sharp  eyes  fixed  on  his  son's  wide-open  ones.     "  You  are 
young,  good-looking,  and  have  opportunities  of  meeting  her 
(  which  few  men  have.     If  I  were  in  your  place — " 

Mordaunt  laughed  discordantly. 

"  You  must  be  mad,  guv'nor,"  he  said.  "  Miss  Sartoris 
wouldn't  look  at  me.  She  regards  me  as  a  kind  of  servant. 
She  doesn't  know  what  I'm  like.  She  scarcely  bows  when  we 
meet;  she  wouldn't  know  me  outside  Court  Regna." 

Mr.  Sapley  showed  his  teeth,  and  hissed  half  contemptu- 
ously, half  defiantly: 

"  Bah!  You  haven't  half  the  pluck  I  had.  Oh,  I'm  not 
blaming  you;  it's  the  difference  in  the  training.  Faint  heart 
never  won  fair  lady.  Doesn't  the  prospect  allure  you?  To 
be  the  husband  of  a  beautiful  girl  like  that.  To  be  the  mas- 
ter of  Court  Regna,  one  of  the  show  places  of  England — the 
world!" 

Mordaunt  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  and  laughed 
scornfully. 

"  You're  dreaming,  guv'nor,"  he  said.  "  She  wouldn'i 
look  at  me.  I'm  just  the  son  of  her  agent,  and  no  more." 

A  dusky  red  overspread  Mr.  Sapley's  face.  He  looked 
uglier  than  ever. 

"  You're  an  Oxford  man,  and  a  gentleman,"  he  said. 
"  And  suppose  I  help  you?" 

"  You  help  me!"  exclaimed  Mordaunt,  leaning  forward. 

Mr.  Sapley  bit  his  lip,  as  if  he  had  said  too  much. 

"  Well,  I  might  help  you,"  he  said.  "  Who  knows?  Any- 
way, the  thing  is  not  impossible;  it  is  less  than  impossible,  it 
is  probable." 

Mr.  Mordaunt  stared  at  him.  The  young  man's  common- 
place, and  rather  sordid  face  was  alive  with  a  kind  of  cute- 
ness. 

He  had  hitherto  looked  up  to  Miss  Sartoris  as  a  sort  of 
queen.  He  had  admired  her  beauty,  but  as  a  subject  might 
admire  that  of  an  empress.  She  had  seemed  something  far 
and  away  beyond  his  reach.  And  now  to  be  told  that  he 
might  become  her  husband,  might  become  the  master  of 
Court  Regna,  might  enter  the  charmed  circle  of  the  county 
families! 

It  took  his  breath  away.  He  leaned  forward,  the  bruise 
Gerald  Wayre  had  made  upon  his  face  showing  plainly,  his 
small  eyes  alight  with  the  light  reflected  from  his  fathers. 


34  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

«  Do  you  mean  what  you  say?"  he  demanded 

wiSSia^H^^^— »£ 

ESrf  Pn^  «?J?  «  Tt f  lffi| 
&  Ea-and  your  father  swept  out  Goodchild's  office!" 
U  Mordaunt  rose  and  paced  up  and  down  the  small  room. 
"It  seems  impossible!"    he  said.     "How  can  you  help 

Mr.  Sapiey  gathered  the  papers  together  with  a  sweep  of  his 


X,OT«-  you  mind,"  he  said.  "You'll  know  all  in  good 
time.  If  you  want  my  advice,  I  say,  see  as  much  of  her  aa. 
vou  can.  Never  mind  her  proud  and  haughty  ways.  Ihey 
Li't  count."  He  showed  his  teeth.  'You  can  pay  her 
back  for  them  when  you're  married.  Go  and  see  her  on  busi 
ness  as  often  as  you  can.  Get  into  her  confidence— that  s  the 
way  I  alwavs  acted.  Study  her  likes  and  dislikes  and  natter 
her  Flatter  her,  Mordaunt!  It's  the  quickest  way  to  a 
woman's  heart.  I'll  keep  in  the  background  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. Let  her  think  that  yon,  and  not  me,  are  necessary  to 
her.  She's  all  alone  here,  and  you've  got  the  first  chance. 
Make  the  best  use  of  your  time,  and  when  you've  got  a  foot- 
ing with  her,  come  to  me,  and  I'll  do  the  rest!"  He  looked 
up  at  his  son  through  eyes  made  into  slits,  and  showed  his 
fangs  in  an  encouraging  smile. 

Mordaunt  leaned  his  arms  upon  the  table,  and  stared  at  his 
father  almost  breathlessly. 

The  prospect  unfolded  before  him  was  simply  dazzling.     To 
be  the  husband  of  Claire  Sartoris,  the  master  of  Court  Regnal 
The  mere  thought  bewildered  him. 
Father  and  son  regarded  each  other  in  a  pregnant  silence. 
The  door  opened  and  an  old  woman  thrust  in  her  head. 
"  Supper's  ready!"  she  said  in  a  harsh  voice. 
They  went  into  the  room  which  served  as  dining  and  draw- 
•  ing-room,  where  the  table  was  spread  for  supper;  cold  meat, 
cheese,  and  a  st9ny-lookiug  pie.     Neither  of  them  eat  much. 
They  were  both  thinking  of  the  alluring  prospect  spread  out 
before  them.     Presently  Mordaunt  pushed  his  plate  away  and 
rose. 

"  I'll  take  a  turn,"  he  said.  Mr.  Sapiey  nodded  and  filled 
a  long  clay  pipe,  the  long  clay  pipe  which  was  always  an  eye- 
sore to  his  elegant  son.  Mr.  Mordaunt  crossed  the  Regna 
ground  by  a  aide  path,  and  went  down  to  the  pier,  and 
descended  by  the  stone  steps  Jo  the  beach.  He  was  sheltered 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  3* 

from  observation  from  the  village,  and  from  everything 
excepting  the  boats  at  sea.  He  lighted  a  cigarette  and 
smoked  for  a  few  minutes,  then  he  whistled  sharply,  and 
after  a  few  minirtes  there  came  a  sound  like  a  bird,  and  pres- 
ently a  young  girl  tripped  quickly  down  the  steps  of  the  pier 
and  joined  him. 

It  was  Captain  Hawker's  daughter,  Lucy. 

Mordaunt  Sapley  went  to  meet  her,  and  put  his  arm  round 
her  waist,  and  kissed  her. 

"  I  thought  you  were  never  coming!"  he  said. 

"  And  I  thought  the  same  of  you,"  she  said,  breathlessly^ 
"  How  late  you  are!" 

"  I  have  been  engaged — on  business,"  he  said.  "  You 
heard  my  whistle?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  have  been  waiting  for  it.  It's  well  I 
didn't  hear  it  before,  for  I  had  to  get  our  lodger's  supper." 

He  drew  her  close  to  him,  and  smoothed  the  soft  brown 
hair  from  her  forehead.  "  Did  you  think  I  wasn't  coming?" 
he  said,  "  and  was  it  frightened?" 

She  nestled  closer  to  him.  "I  thought  you  would  come," 
she  said,  "  but  I  mustn't  stay  long,  Mordaunt.  Father  and 
the  gentleman  are  both  outside  the  cottage,  and  they  may  see 
us."  He  kissed  her,  taking  his  cigarette  out  of  his  mouth  to 
do  so. 

"  Bother  your  father  and  your  lodger!"  he  said. 

There  was  a  silence.  The  girl  leaned  her  head  on  his 
shoulder,  her  eyes  turned  to  his  face. 

"  What  a  lovely  night,  Mordaunt,"  she  murmured. 
"  Have  you — have  you  spoken  to  your  father  yet?" 

He  shifted  uneasily,  but  smiled  encouragingly.  "  Not  yet, 
Lucy,"  he  said.  "  There's  plenty  of  time.  What  are  you 
shuddering  at?"  for  a  shiver  had  run  through  her. 

"  Speak  to  him  at  once,  dear!"  she  said.  "  Tell  him — oh, 
tell  him!" 

"  All  in  good  time,"  he  said,  easily.  "  I  must  break  it  to 
him  gently.  You  don't  mistrust  me,  Lucy?" 

'*  No,  no!"  she  said,  eagerly,  as  if  she  were  trying  to  con- 
vince herself.  "  I  don't  distrust  you,  dear;  but  you  said  that 
you  would  speak  to  him;  and  I  want  to  know.  I  am  afraid 
that  father  will  find  out,  that  he  will  see,  that  some  one  will 
see  us — our  lodger!" 

"  Who  is  your  lodger?"  asked  Mordaunt. 

"  A  gentleman,"  she  replied.     "  A  Mr.  Gerald  Wayre!" 

Mordaunt  started.     "  They  must  not  know!"  he  said. 

"  Not  till  you  have  spoken  to  your  father,"  she  agreed, 


36  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COUET  REGNA. 

cheerfully.  "  Oh,  Mordaunt,  I  am  afraid  of  what  he  will  say! 
Do  you  think  he  will  be  very  angry?" 

Mr.  Mordaunt  kissed  her  hair,  and  flung  the  end  of  his 
cigarette  into  a  pool  left  by  the  tide. 

"  You've  not  said  anything  to  any  one?"  he  asked. 

"  I've  not  told  any  one!"  she  breathed,  drawing  herself 
away  from  him. 

"'That's  right,"  he  said,  "  don't  say  anything  to  any  one— 
but  of  course  you  wouldn't.  It  will  all  come  right  directly. 
I'll  speak  to  my  father — " 

"And— and  we  shall  be  married!"  she  murmured,  hiding 
her  face  on  his  breast. 

"  Yes,  of  course  we  shall  be  married,"  he  assented,  fum- 
bling for  his  tobacco  and  cigarette  paper. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  next  morning  Gerald  climbed  the  hill  to  St.  Anne's 
Chapel.  It  was  a  lovely  morning;  the  sky  was  bright,  and 
the  sea  was  blue,  and  a  breeze  coming  direct  from  Labrador 
made  the  trees  round  the  Court  musical. 

Gerald  had  his  sketch-book  in  his  pocket,  and  his  pipe  in  his 
mouth,  and,  having  had  a  good  breakfast,  and  being  young 
and  strong,  and  of  a  cheerful  spirit,  was  in  the  best  of  humors. 

The  path  up  to  the  ruin  wound  in  zigzag  fashion  until  it 
came  to  a  little  lawn-like  space  in  front  of  the  old  iron  gate, 
which  admitted  to  the  second  inclosure  of  the  chapel  itself. 
Gerald  pulled  out  his  key  to  unlock  the  gate,  when  he  saw 
that  it  was  heavily  padlocked,  and  that  his  key  was  useless. 
The  ruin  looked  tempting,  and  Gerald  was  rather  disappointed. 
He  walked  round  the  railings;  but  they  were  all  in  good  con- 
dition and  not  climbable,  and,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders, 
he  sat  down  on  a  little  mound,  and  proceeded  to  sketch  that 
side  of  the  chapel  which  presented  itself  to  him. 

While  he  was  at  work,  he  was  asking  himself  what  he 
should  do  with  the  key.  Should  he  send  it  back  by  one  of  the 
fisher-boys,  or  should  he  walk  up  to  the  Court  with  it  himself? 
If  he  did  the  latter,  perhaps  Miss  Sartoris  would  think  him 
intrusive,  would  think  he  wanted  to  force  his  acquaintance 
upon  her,  because  he  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  find  her 
diamond  ornament. 

"  No,  I  had  better  send  it  back,"  he  said   to  himself. 

'  The  less  you  have  to  do  with  dames  of  high  degree  the 

better,  my  dear  fellow.     You'll  send  the  key  back  with  a 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COUET  REGNA.  37 

polite  expression  of  thanks,   and,  in  the  language  of  the 
classics,  take  your  hook. " 

As  he  arrived  at  this  decision,  he  heard  a  peculiar  noise 
down  the  hill  behind  him,  and,  listening,  found  presently  that 
it  was  an  approaching  horse.     He  craned  his  head  to  look, 
and  saw  a  lady  riding  up  a  narrow  track.     It  was  a  very  nar-  -. 
row  track,   and  not  altogether  a  safe  one;    but  the  rider  ! 
appeared  quite  at  her  ease,  and  sat  her  horse  as  if  she  were 
cantering  on  a  level  road.     Gerald  was  himself  a  good  rider, 
and  he  watched  her  with  critical  admiration,  which  changed 
to  surprise  as  lie  saw  that  it  was  Miss  Sartoris. 

She  looked  more  beautiful  in  the  young  man's  eyes  in  her 
well-fitting  riding-habit  even  than  she  had  done  in  her  even- 
ing-dress of  the  night  before;  indeed,  she  was  grace  personi- 
fied as  she  sat  lightly  and  firmly  in  her  saddle,  seeming  part 
of  the  beautiful  horse  she  rode. 

"  You  have  plenty  of  pluck,  my  lady!"  said  Gerald  to  him- 
self, as  she  left  the  narrow  track,  and  came  at  a  canter  up  the 
steep  hill,  a  slip  on  which  would  have  precipitated  her  into 
the  depth  below. 

Fronting  the  chapel,  she  pulled  up,  and  sat  looking 
thoughtfully  before  her.  The  exercise,  perhaps  the  danger, 
had  bestowed  a  tinge  of  color  on  the  clear  ivory  of  her  face; 
her  eyes  were  glowing  rather  than  sparkling.  And  Gerald  sat 
and  watched  her,  absorbed  in  her  beauty,  while  one  could 
count  twenty;  then,  remembering  his  manners,  he  rose  and 
raised  his  hat. 

She  did  not  start;  but  turned  her  head  slowly,  and  bowed 
slightly. 

"  You  have  come  to  sketch  the  chapel?"  she  said.  "  Have 
you  not  been  inside?" 

"  Not  yet/'  he  said.  "  The  fact  is,  the  gate  is  padlocked 
as  well  as  locked,  and  I  can't  get  in." 

She  looked  at  the  gate  with,  it  seemed  to  Gerald,  a  touch  of 
annoyance. 

"  I  did  not  know  there  was  a  padlock,"  she  said.  "  I  do 
not  know  who  has  put  it  there — except  it  was  Mr.  Sapley. 
The  ordinary  lock  was  sufficient.  And  can  you  not  climb 
over?" 

Gerald  looked  at  the  spear-headed  railings. 

"Well,  I  could,"  he  said,  "but  I  have  not  too  many 
clothes,  and  these  would  run  some  risk." 

"  Is  there  no  way  of  getting  in?"  she  asked. 

"  Only  by  unlocking  the  padlock,  or  breaking  it,"  he  said. 

"  Please  break  it,"  she  said. 


38  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGNA. 

There  was  a  faint  tone  of  command  in  her  voice,  as  if  she 
were  still  rather  annoyed. 

"Oh,  it  doesn't  matter,"  he  said,  "thank  you.  I  am 
making  a  sketch  of  this  south  side." 

"  Do  you  mean  you  have  nothing  here  to  break  it  with?" 
she  asked.  I 

"  Oh,  no!"  he  responded,  glancing  at  a  piece  of  rock. 

"  Then,  will  you  break  it,  please?" 

There  was  still  more  of  command  in  her  voice,  and,  with- 
out another  word,  he  took  up  a  piece  of  rock,  and  with  a  blow 
or  two  shattered  the  padlock. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said.  "  You  can  go  in  now  when  you 
please." 

"  I  will  finish  this  sketch  first."  Then,  with  a  dread  that 
she  was  going,  and  with  a  desire  to  keep  her,  "  What  a  fine 
morning.  That  is  a  beautiful  horse  you  are  riding,  Miss  Sar- 
toris." 

She  drew  her  gauntleted  hand  along  the  horse's  glossy  neck. 

"  She  is  a  very  good  horse,"  she  said. 

"  And  a  clever  one.  She  came  up  that  steep  track  splen- 
didly. It  is  rather  a  dangerous  ride." 

"  She  is  used  to  it,  and  I  am  used  to  her,"  said  Claire. 

"  So  I  saw,"  he  remarked.  "  There  are  very  few  ladies  who 
would  care  to  come  up  that  break-neck  place  even  on  foot." 

Claire  looked  over  her  shoulder  at  the  track. 

"  I  have  never  noticed  that  there  was  any  danger,"  she 
said. 

She  leaned  a  little  forward,  in  so  graceful  an  attitude  that  a 
sudden  temptation  assailed  Gerald.  He  left  the  chapel,  and 
began  to  make  a  rapid  sketch  of  her  on  one  side  of  his  paper. 

"  Do  you  paint  in  oils?"  asked  Claire. 

"  Sometimes,"  said  Gerald,  seizing  the  excuse  to  look  at 
her. 

"  You  are  an  artist  as  well  as  an  architect,  then?1'  she  said. 

"  Did  I  say  I  was  an  architect?  "Well,  I  suppose  I  am. 
I've  been  so  many  things." 

Claire  looked  down  at  him  with  a  veiled  curiosity.  She 
saw,  now,  in  the  full  morning  light,  how  handsome  he  was. 
There  was  something  hi  his  face  more  interesting  than  regu- 
larity of  features. 

*  You've  been  so  many  things?"  she  repeated. 

He  nodded. 

'  Yes;   I  am  what  the  world  calls  an  adventurer,  Miss 
Sartoris." 

"  What  is  that?"  asked  Claire. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COtJKT  REGNA.  39 

"  Well,  in  the  old  days  it  mean  a  soldier  of  fortune,  a  man 
•who  sold  his  sword  to  the  highest  bidder,  one  who  went 
a-sailing  in  search  of  new  lands,  or  somebody  else's  ship  and 
treasure;  it  meant  all  sorts  of  romantic  things.  Nowadays  it 
means  a  kind  of  vagabond,  a  ne'er-do-well,  who  gets  his  living 
in  odd  ways,  and  is  always  regarded  as  a  kind  of  disreputable 
character  whom  it  is  best  to  avoid. " 

"  You  are  not  very  charitable  to  yourself,"  said  Claire. 

She  spoke  almost  coldly,  to  conceal  her  increased  interest. 

He  laughed  a  short  and  not  unmusical  laugh. 

"  You  asked  me,  and  I  told  you  the  truth,'*  he  said.  "  I 
have  been  an  adventurer — that  is,  vagabond — ever  since  I  can 
remember.  (If  I  can  only  keep  her  sitting  still  another  ten 
minutes  I  shall  have  got  her)!  At  the  early  age  of  fifteen 
I  ran  away  to  sea,  and  worked  my  passage  out  to  America  in 
a  sailing  ship.  So  you  may  say  that  I  am  a  sailor.  Out  hi 
America  I  worked  my  way — by  breaking  stones,  chopping 
wood,  and  similar  intellectual  occupations — to  the  mines.  I 
worked  in  the  mines  for  two  years." 

"  So  that  you  you  are  a  miner,"  said  Claire,  absently. 

"  So  that  I  am  a  miner,"  he  assented,  trying  to  indicate  the 
exquisite  wave  in  her  hair.  "  Mining  is  not  an  exhilarating 
pursuit.  There  is  too  much  '  tailings  '  about  it.'* 

Claire  leaned  her  elbow  upon  her  horse's  neck,  and  looked  at 
him. 

"  What  are — tailings?"  she  inquired,  with  a  kind  of 
reluctant  curiosity. 

"  Tailings  are,  so  to  speak,  the  dregs  of  the  ore  that  fall  at 
the  bottom  of  the  stamping  machine,  the  machine  that  stamps 
out  the  precious  metal  from  the  rock.  There  still  remains 
some  of  the  silver  in  these  tailings,  and  they  have  to  be 
washed  to  separate  the  metal  from  them.  It  is  a  maddening, 
a  soul-destroying  occupation.  I  threw  it  up  and  went  cattle- 
driving;  so  that  you  may  call  me  a  cowboy." 

"  And  did  you  like  that  better?"  asked  Claire. 

"  Very  much,"  he  said,  beginning  to  sketch  hi  rapidly  the 
body  of  the  horse.  "  It  is  the  most  delightful  of  all  lives, 
spent  in  the  open  air,  mostly  in  solitude;  with  the  best  of  horses 
to  ride,  and  Nature  an  open  book  before  you.  That  was 
life." 

"  Why  did  you  leave  it?"  she  asked.  Then  she  bit  her  lip, 
angry  with  herself  for  putting  the  question.  She  drew  herself 
up,  with  a  sudden  resolve  and  hauteur,  which  he  had  noticed 
on  the  previous  night.  But  he  was  absorbed  in  his  itealthy 
work,  and  did  not  notice  her  expression  now. 


4O  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

"  Because  of  a  little  quarrel  with  my  employer,"  he  said, 
quite  frankly.  "  He  tried  to  rob  me  of  my  wages— wages 
earned  by  the  sweat  of  my  brow,  and  very  often  at  the  risk  of 
my  neck.  We  settled  it  in  the  usual  way. " 

She  did  not  ask  how  this  time,  but  inquiry  looked  from  her 
lovely  eyes,  and  spoke  from  her  mute  lips. 

"  Every  little  dispute  over  there  is  settled  by  the  revolver/' 
he  said.  "  It  is  more  expeditious  than  the  law,  and  cheaper. 
He  tired  at  me  and  missed  me.  I  then  '  covered '  him,  as 
they  call  it,  and  made  him  count  out  the  money  on  a  stone 
half-way  between  us.  So  we  parted.  Then  I  went  back  to 
the  cities,  to  a  place  called  Ariona.  They  wanted  to  build  a 
jail  there— they  always  want  a  jail  directly  a  town  grows 
prosperous;  it  is  an  outward  and  visible  sign  of  civilization. 
There  was  no  one  there  who  knew  how  to  draw  a  plan  out, 
and  as  I  knew  no  less  than  the  others,  I  offered.  So  I  built 
the  jail  at  Ariona — and  the  mayor  thereof  was  the  first  pris- 
oner. Embezzled  the  town  funds.  I  architected  several  jails, 
churches,  and  other  public  buildings  for  other  places.  That's 
why  I  am  an  architect — but  I  am  afraid  I  am  boring  you." 
He  had  nearly  finished  the  horse. 

"  No!"  she  said.     That  was  all. 

"  I  had  made  some  money,  and  I  put  it  into  a  mine.  I  might 
as  well  have  put  it  into  the  gutter.  Then  I  started  life  again 
with  one  suit  of  clothes  and  two  dollars.  The  president  of  the 
mine,  who  had  made  a  large  fortune  out  of  the  same  enter- 
prises, said  he  was  very  sorry  for  me,  and  knowing  that  I  was 
a  bit  of  an  artist,  said  that  I  might  paint  his  wife's  portrait." 

He  looked  up  with  a  smile,  and  though  Claire  endeavored  to 
look  coldly  neutral,  the  smile  was  reflected  in  her  eyes. 

"  The  lady  was  fat,  fair,  and  forty.  I  made  her  slim,  a 
beautiful  blonde,  and  five-and-twenty.  She  said  it  was  life- 
like, quite  life-like.  Her  friends  said — well,  I  don't  know 
what  they  said,  but  they  all  wanted  their  portraits  painted  by 
the  same  truthful  hand.  I  became  the  fashionable  painter  oC 
Gip's  Sling.  So  that's  why  you  can  call  me  an  artist,  if  you 
wish  to  flatter  me."  He  was  bestowing  a  few  loving  touches 
to  the  folds  of  her  habit. 

"  I  might  have  been  at  Gip's  Sling  now,  painting  ladies, 
but — well,  even  the  portrait  painter  has  a  conscience.  Mine 
grew  restive.  I  fled,  leaving  a  portrait  half  finished,  and 
took  to  the  wilds  again.  I  hunted  with  the  Indians  for  over 
a  year,  learned  their  language,  slept  in  their  wigwams,  and 

§>t  much  store  of  far  and  hide.     I  was  called  *  The  White 
unter,'  because  I  was  rather  ready  with  my  Winchester; 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGffl.  41 

and  I  had  become  so  like  an  Indian  that  on  several  occasions 
my  fellow-whites,  who  chanced  to  meet  me,  travelers  and 
traders,  took  me  for  the  noble  red-man,  and  talked  Indian,  or 
made  signs." 

Claire  drew  a  long  breath.  It  was  like  Desdemona  listen- 
ing to  Othello. 

"  I  fancy  I  should  have  spent  the  remainder  of  my  days 
with  those  children  of  the  forest,  but  one  morning  there  hap- 
pened to  come  a  bank  of  clouds  across  the  sky  that  looked  like 
cliffs.  I  thought  of  the  cliffs  of  old  England,  and  a  sudden 
homesickness  fell  upon  me  and  took  possession  of  me.  I 
sold  my  skins  and  feathers  to  the  chief,  and  that  same  night 
rode  out  of  the  camp,  and  straight  for  the  coast,  and  took  ship 
for  England;  and  so  came  back  to  the  land  of  my  birth, 
which  I  had  not  seen  since  a  boy." 

He  tilted  his  hat  back  from  his  forehead,  and  looked  up  at 
her  with  a  grave  smile. 

Claire  only  half  awoke  from  the  spell  which  his  story  had 
cast  over  her. 

"  Doubtless  you  are  glad  to  get  back  to  your  friends.'* 
Feeling  that  she  must  say  something. 

The  smile  died  away  from  his  face,  and  it  grew  graver. 

"  I  should  have  been  if  I  had  had  any/'  he  said,  very 
quietly.  "  But  I  haven't.  I  knew  no  one  in  England. " 

"  Your  relations?"  said  Claire  again,  reluctlantly. 

"  I  have  none,"  he  said.  "  I  never  knew  my  father  or  my 
mother.  I  was  brought  up  by  a  couple  who  had  had  charge 
of  me  since  I  was  a  child;  it  was  from  them  I  ran  away.  But 
I  am  quite  sure  I  have  wearied  you  to  death,  Miss  Sartoris, 
and  probably  disgusted  you  with  this  choice  sample  of 
egotism.  I  assure  you  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  recounting  my 
adventures  in  this  wholesale  fashion;  indeed,  I  don't  think  I 
have  ever  mentioned  them  to  any  one  before,"  and  he  frowned 
slightly,  as  if  he  were  puzzled,  and  rather  annoyed  with  him- 
self for  having  been  so  confidential. 

"  You  have  not  tired  me,"  said  Claire.  "  It  has  been 
very — very  interesting.  I  do  not  think  many  men  have  had 
such  a  varied  and  adventurous  life." 

"It's  to  be  hoped  not,"  he  said,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  It  does  not  sound  altogether  an  unhappy  one,"  remarked 
Claire. 

He  laughed. 

"  Oh,  no!"  and  the  laugh  died  away,  and  a  touch  of  mel- 
ancholy came  into  the  dark  eyes. 


4J  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGJTA. 

"  It  has  been  rather  a  lonely  and  solitary  one,"  he  saidj 
gazing  at  the  sketch. 

"  Have  you  finished  it?"  asked  Claire. 

"  Yes;  just  finished  it,"  he  replied,  absently. 

"  Will  you  let  me  see  it?"  she  asked. 

It  was  an  awkward  request. 

He  reddened  slightly  and  looked  confused;  then  he  said; 
"  Certainly;  one  moment!" 

He  took  out  his  penknife  and  rapidly  cut  off  his  sketch 
portrait  of  her,  then  took  the  sketch  of  the  chapel  to  her. 

She  bent  down  and  looked  at  it. 

"  I  thought  you  said  you  had  finished  it?"  she  remarked, 
innocently. 

"  Oh;  not  quite,"  he  said.  "  As  much  as  I  meant  to  do 
this  morning. 

"  It  will  be  very  good,"  said  Claire. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  humbly.  "  I  will  go  into  the 
chapel  now  and  look  round." 

Claire  gathered  her  reins  together  as  if  about  to  ride  off, 
then  she  said: 

"  Perhaps  the  door  is  locked  also;  I  will  see." 

She  slipped  from  the  saddle,  and  flinging  the  bridle  over 
the  railings,  passed  through  the  gate  and  tried  the  old  oaken 
door.  It  was  open,  and  Gerald,  removing  his  hat,  followed 
her  in.  She  noticed  the  little  act  of  reverence,  and  was 
pleased.  They  looked  round  together  in  silence  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  old  building,"  he  said,  "  and  in  a  won- 
derful state  of  preservation,  considering  its  age.  It  is  Nor- 
man. " 

"  You  tell  it  by  the—" 

"By  the  arches  and  the  lines  over  them,"  he  said,  "as 
well  as  by  other  signs.  That  is  the  effigy  of  a  Norman 
knight.  There  are  tombs  here,"  he  added,  as  he  bent  down 
to  examine  the  floor. 

"  Yes,"  said  Claire;  "  some  of  the  Whartons  are  buried 
here.  Lord  Wharton  was  very  proud  of  the  chapel,  and  had 
great  care  taken  of  it." 

He  poked  about,  pushing  the  grass  aside  and  disclosing 
time-worn  memorial  slabs. 

"  The  lichen  has  eaten  away  most  of  the  inscriptions,"  he 
said,  "  but  some  of  the  letters  still  remain;  one  feels  them 
better  than  sees  them."  He  passed  his  hand  over  the  stone. 

Claire  bent  down  on  the  other  side  of  it. 

"  Is  that  so?"  she  asked. 


43 

"  Yes;  see!"  he  said,  "  or,  rather,  feel." 

Claire  was  much  interested.  She  took  off  the  gauntlet  from 
her  right  hand  and  passed  her  finger  softly^ over  the  stone,  her 
eyes  half  closed. 

"You  are  feeling  in  the  wrong  place,"  he  said;  "  there  are 
no  letters  there.  Permit  me,"  he  took  her  hand  and  guided 
it  along  the  faintly  marked  line. 

As  his  hand  inclosed  hers  firmly,  yet  gently,  a  strange  thrill 
ran  through  Claire,  beginning  at  her  finger  tips,  and  running 
through  her  whole  frame.  She  felt  a  desire  to  draw  her  hand 
away  from  his,  and  yet  an  incapacity  to  do  so.  She  glanced 
at  him  through  her  half-closed  eyes,  her  breath  coming  a 
little  faster,  her  dark  brows  drawn  into  a  slight  frown.  But 
he  seemed  quite  unconscious,  and  quite  engrossed  in  their 
strangely  mutual  task. 

"  Can  you  feel  anything?"  he  asked. 

His  face  was  of  necessity  very  close  to  hers,  and  its  nearness 
confused  her  and  made  it  difficult  for  her  to  speak  on  the 
instant.  At  last  she  said,  and  coldly:  "  I  think  I  felt  a 
letter." 

"  What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"  It  is  a  G,"  she  said. 

"  Yes;  and  the  next?" 

"  Is  it  an  E?"  she  asked. 

He  passed  his  fingers  over  the  letter  and  looked  at  her  ab- 
stractedly. 

"  You  are  right/'  he  said. 

"  And  the  next  is  an  R  or  a  K,"  she  said. 

*'  It  is  an  E.  How  quick  you  are!  A  woman's  fingers  are 
so  sensitive.  That  is  why  they  make  the  best  fishermen,  as 
an  Irishman  would  say." 

She  wanted  to  draw  her  hand  away,  but  though  she  could 
have  done  so  now,  she  did  not  like  to  do  so. 

"  The  next  letter  has  quite  gone,"  she  said,  "  but  the  next 
is  an  L  and  then  a  D."  She  spelled  out  the  \rord  as  far  as 
she  had  deciphered  it,  "  GER— LD." 

She  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  at  him. 

"  It  must  be  Gerald,"  she  said. 

He  laughed.  "  Yes;  my  name,  strange  to  say;  and  yet  not 
strange;  it  is  a  common  enough  name." 

"  It  was  one  of  Lord  Wharton's  names,"  said  Claire. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  no  doubt  it  is  a  family  name,  and  we 
should  find  it  on  other  tombs  here." 

He  still  held  her  hand  as  if  he  had  forgotten  he  held  it. 

She  drew  it  away  and  stood  upright  and  looked  round, 


44  THE  MISTRTSb  OF  COURT  EEQNA. 

holding  her  breath  for  a  moment,  and  with  a  faint  coloi 
mantling  in  her  cheek,  but  when  he  looked  up  at  her  the  coloi 
had  gone,  and  she  was  as  cold,  or,  rather,  reserved,  as  usual. 
She  glanced  at  the  watch  on  her  wrist. 

"  I  must  go,"  she  said;  "  I  hope  you  will  find  some  interest- 
ing things  to  draw  here." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  half  absently.  "But  I  don't 
expect  I  shall  find  anything  more  interesting  than  the  sketch 
I  took  outside;"  and  his  hand  slipped  into  his  jacket-pocket 
where  the  sketch  of  her  lay  hidden. 

"  Good-morning,"  she  said. 

"  You  will  let  me  help  you  to  mount?"  he  said,  as  he  raised 
his  hat. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  she  said,  rather  quickly,  without  turning 
her  head;  and  she  passed  out. 

Gerald  Wayre  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  the  door- way 
through  which  she  had  disappeared.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
the  chapel  had  become  dark  all  of  a  sudden.  He  looked  down 
at  i^e  tomb  abstractedly,  then  he  stooped  and  picked  up 
something;  it  was  her  gauntlet.  He  held  it  in  his  palm  and 
gazed  at  it  thoughtfully;  he  could  have  almost  fancied  that  it 
retained  the  warmth  of  her  long,  shapely  hand,  whose  touch 
seemed  still  to  linger  about  his  fingers.  He  pressed  the  glove 
against  his  cheek;  then,  with  a  flush  and  an  impatient  excla- 
mation, he  flung  the  gauntlet  from  him  and  turned  his  back 
upon  it. 

But  a  moment  or  two  afterward  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder 
at  it;  it  seemed  to  have  a  reproachful  expression,  as  if  it  were 
a  sentient  human  thing,  and  with  another  half-augry,  half- 
impatient  exclamation,  he  strode  to  it,  picked  it  up  and  thrust 
it  into  his  bosom.  There  it  seemed  like  a  warm,  living 
thing,  nestling  against  his  heart. 

His  lips  grew  tight,  and  he  frowned. 

"  \\  hat  has  come  to  me?"  he  said  under  his  breath.  "  I 
must  be  mad!" 

CHAPTER  VI. 

CLAIRE  rode  down  the  perilous  path,  and  long  before  she 
had  got  to  the  road  at  the  bottom,  she  missed  her  glove.  She 
was  rather  annoyed  at  her  carelessness,  for  gauntlet  riding- 
cloves  are  not  to  be  bought  in  every  country  town;  but  she 
felt  that  she  could  not  go  back  after  it.  Mr.  Wayre  was  there 
still.  She  would  go  back  for  it  to-morrow  morning. 
kwAg  she  went  at  a  gentle  trot  along  the  road  that  winds  ta 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  45 

the  Court,  she  saw  Mr.  Mordaunfc  Sapley  coming  toward  her. 
He  raised  his  hat,  and  stopped,  as  she  came  up  with  him,  and 
Claire  pulled  up. 

"  Good-morning,'*  he  said,  with  the  mixture  of  familiarity 
and  respect  in  which  he  always  addressed  her,  and  which 
Claire  did  not  like.  "  I  was  going  to  the  Court,  Miss  Sar- 
toris;  my  father  wishes  me  to  speak  to  you  about  Grimley's 
farm.  They  are  behind-hand  with  their  rent,  and  he  thinks 
they  ought  to  have  notice  to  quit;  he  would  have  given  them 
notice  last  week,  but  he — er — fancied  that  you  did  not  wish 
him  to." 

"  Are  they  very  much  behind?"  said  Claire,  hesitatingly. 
Lord  Wharton  had  never  interferred  with  Mr.  Sapley,  who 
had,  in  reality,  ruled  the  estate,  and  she  wished  to  follow  in 
Lord  Wharton's  path  as  closely  as  possible;  but  the  idea  of 
ejecting  a  tenant,  of  treating  any  one  of  them  harshly,  was 
repugnant  to  her.  "  Grimley  broke  his  arm  last  autumn," 
she  said,  "  and  the  harvest  was  bad;  I  do  not  like  turning  him 
out  of  the  farm;  he  has  been  there  a  great  many  years."  Her 
eyes  grew  pitiful.  "  1  should  be  glad  if  Mr.  Sapley  could  let 
him  remain  and  give  him  another  chance." 

Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley  looked  up  at  her  with  as  much 
admiration  in  his  small  eyes  as  he  dared  display. 

"  You  are  so  kind-hearted,  Miss  Sartoris!"  he  said,  with  an 
ingratiating  smile,  aud  the  finnikin  Oxford  drawl,  which 
Claire  disliked  as  much  as  she  disliked  his  manner.  "  Of 
course,  he  ought  to  go;  a  man  has  no  right  to  stop  on  a  farm 
when  he  can  not  pay  the  rent,  and  we  have  been  very  lenient 
with  Grimley.  My  father  has  to  do  his  duty  by  the  estate, 
you  know,  Miss  Sartoris.  He  has  only  your  interest  at 
heart." 

"  I  am  quite  sure  of  that,"  said  Claire,  "  and  I  should  not 
venture  to  interfere  in  any  way/' 

"  Oh,  the  place  is  yours,"  he  said,  coming  a  little  nearer, 
and  looking  up  at  her  in  a  way  that  made  Claire's  face  grow 
colder  and  more  reserved.  "  Your  word  is  our  law,  and  we 
are  all  your  very  humble  but  willing  slaves." 

Claire  tried  to  smile. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  require  any  slaves,  Mr.  Sapley,"  she 
said;  "  but  you  are  very  kind;  and  I  shall  be  glad  if  your 
father  can  let  Grimley  remain. ; ' 

"  I  am  sure  he  will,"  said  Mr.  Mordaunt,  "  especially  as 
you  desire  it  so  much."  He  smiled  very  impressively,  and 
laid  his  hand  upon  the  horse's  neck.  She  seemed  to  resent 
his  touch,  though  she  had  accepted  Gerald's  caress  willingly 


46  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA. 

enough,  and  Claire  resented  it  also;  it  was  almost  as  if  Mr. 
Mordannt  Sapley  had  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm.  She  drew 
herself  up  unconsciously,  and  her  brows  went  straight. 

"  Good-morning,"  she  said,  with  that  tone  which  a  woman 
uses  when  she  draws  herself  aloof  from  the  person  she  ad- 
dresses, and  with  a  cold  bow  rode  away  from  him. 

The  smile  died  away  from  Mr.  Mordaunt's  lace  as  he  looked 
after  her,  and  his  lips  moved  as  if  he  were  swearing  under 
his  breath;  then  the  smile  came  back  again,  though  in  rather 
a  sickly  fashion,  for  she  had  pulled  up,  and  looked  back  at 
him,  as  if  she  wished  to  speak.  He  hurried  toward  her, 
hurried  instinctively,  though  he  would  have  liked  to  have 
sauntered. 

"  I  found  a  dog  of  yours  last  night,  Mr.  Sapley,"  she  said, 
looking  over  his  head.  "  It  is  locked  up  in  the  stable;  the 
groom  will  give  it  to  you  if  you  ask  for  it." 

He  reddened,  and  his  small  eyes  were  cast  down,  and  then 
raised  to  her  face  with  a  slinking  kind  of  inquiry.  Had  she 
witnessed  the  scene  between  him  and  Gerald  Wayre?  But  her 
face  was  like  that  of  the  Sphinx;  and  as  she  rode  off,  Mr. 
Mordaunt  gnawed  at  his  mustache,  and  swore  again. 

"  Curse  her,  she  speaks  to  me  as  if  I  were  a  dog  myself!" 
he  said.  "  She  hates  me;  worse  than  hates  me,  looks  down 
at  me  as  if  I  were  the  dirt  under  her  feet!  The  guv'nor  must 
have  been  mad  last  night  when  he  talked  as  he  did — stark, 
staring  mad.  Yet  he  said  he  could  help  me.  What  did  he 
mean?  Oh,  he  must  have  been  mad!  He  ought  to  have  seen 
her  treatment  of  me  this  morning!"  And  he  walked  on, 
gnawing  at  his  lip,  and  cutting  viciously  at  the  wild  flowers 
beside  his  path. 

At  the  turn  of  the  road  from  which  another  leads  down  to 
Regna,  she  paused  for  a  moment  or  two  to  look  at  the  ex- 
quisite view.  Here  the  cleft  in  the  rock  in  which  the  village 
lies  opens  out  like  a  funnel,  and  a  triangular  piece  of  the  sea 
is  visible.  It  glowed  like  a  sapphire  this  morning,  the  fishing- 
boats  dancing  on  an  ocean  of  jewels. 

"  If  1  were  an  artist,  like  Mr.  Wayre,  I  should  like  to  paint 
that,"  said  Claire  to  herself. 

As  she  was  about  to  ride  on,  a  girl  came  out  from  a  meadow 
gate-way,  and  stood  with  her  hands  shading  her  eyes,  looking 
UD  the  road  down  which  Claire  had  ridden,  and  up  which  Mr. 
Mordaunt  had  gone.  It  was  Lucy  Hawker,  and  Claire,  who 
knew  and  liked  tbe  girl,  called  to  her  softly. 

Lucy  had  not  seen  Claire,  and  as  she  heard  her  name,  she 
started  with  a  yivid  blush,  and  seemed  about  to  shrink  back 


THE  MISTBESS  OF  COURT  REGHA.  47 

into  the  meadow  again;  then  she  stopped,  with  her  hand 
pressed  against  her  bosom,  and  her  breath  coming  fast. 

Claire  rode  up  beside  her. 

"  Good-morning,  Lucy,"  she  said.  "  How  startled  you 
look!  Did  I  frighten  you?" 

"  Oh,  no,  miss,"  said  Lucy,  dropping  a  courtesy.  "  That 
is — yes;  you  did  startle  me  a  little.  I  thought  it  was  some- 
body else." 

Claire  smiled  and  looked  at  her  with  friendly  admiration. 
In  her  pretty  print  frock  and  cotton  sun-bonnet,  Lucy  made 
a  charming  picture  of  rusticity. 

"  Whom  did  you  think  it  was?"  she  asked. 

Lucy  fumbled  nervously  with  the  strings  of  her  sun-bonnet, 
and  looked  as  if  she  were  confused.  She  had  thought  it  was 
Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley,  but  she  could  not  say  so.  She  was 
asking  herself,  in  a  nervous  tremor,  whether  Miss  Sartoris  had 
seen  Mordaunt  Sapley  parting  from  her  a  few  minutes  ago. 
A  sudden  idea  struck  her. 

"  I  thought  it  might  be  Mr.  Wayre,  miss,"  she  said. 

The  smile  still  lingered  on  Claire's  face;  but  a  slight  color 
also  rose  to  it. 

"  Mr.  Wayre?"  she  said;  and  there  was  a  touch  of  coldness 
in  her  surprise. 

"  Yes,  miss,"  said  Lucy,  regaining  her  composure  some- 
what, but  still  blushing  under  the  regard  of  Claire's  violet 
eyes. 

There  was  something  magnetic  in  those  wonderful  eyes  of 
Claire's,  and  Lucy  felt  as  if  they  were  reading  her  secret;  so, 
as  she  answered,  the  blush  still  came  and  went.  "  Mr.  Wayre, 
the  gentleman  who  lodges  with  us." 

"Oh!"  said  Claire;  "  I  did  not  know  that  he  was  staying 
at  your  cottage.  And  you  were  looking  for  him?" 

"  Yes,  miss,"  replied  Lucy,  looking  down,  and  working  the 
toe  of  her  neat  but  serviceable  boot  into  the  grass.  "  I — I 
wanted  to  tell  him  that  his  lunch  was  ready.  I — I  thought 
he  might  be — painting  somewhere  near  at  hand." 

"  He  is  sketching  up  at  the  chapel,"  said  Claire,  a  little 
coldly.  She  could  not  account  for  the  girl's  evident  confu- 
sion. "  I  hope  he  is  a  good  lodger?"  she  added,  aimlessly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  miss,"  said  Lucy,  with  enthusiasm.  "  He's  the 
best  we  ever  had — so  kind  and  thoughtful;  and  he  gives  so 
little  trouble,  and  he's  so  pleased  with  everything.  Father 
says  it's  quite  a  pleasure  to  have  a  gentleman  like  him  at  the 
cottage.  There's  many  that  comes — tourists,  and  such 


48  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COTJBT  BEGNA. 

like — as  calls  themselves  gentlemen,  but  they're  not  L*eaJ  gen« 
tlemen,  like  Mr.  Wayre." 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  so  satisfactory  a  lodger,"  said  Claire. 
"  You've  not  been  up  to  see  me  lately,  Lucy." 

Lucy  had  been  in  the  habit  of  coming  up  to  the  Court  now 
and  again,  bringing  fish  or  mushrooms;  and  Claire  had  often 
taken  her  round  the  garden,  and  filled  her  emptied  baskets 
with  flowers. 

Lucy  looked  from  right  to  left,  with  a  little  troubled  expres- 
sion in  her  eyes,  then  cast  them  down,  and  dug  at  the  grass 
nervously. 

"  Having  a  lodger  has  kept  me  busy,  Miss  Claire,"  she 
said,  with  a  little  catch  in  her  voice. 

"  I  see,"  said  Claire.  "  Well,  you  must  come  up  as  soon 
as  vou  can;  I  have  some  new  flowers  to  show  you.*' 

"  Thank  you,  miss,"  said  Lucy,  timidly,  and  with  a  sup- 
pressed sigh. 

"  You  will  find  Mr.  Wayre  up  at  the  chapel,"  said  Claire; 
and  with  a  nod  and  a  smile  she  rode  on. 

Lunch  was  on  the  table  when  she  got  home,  and  Mrs.  Lex- 
ton  awaited  her. 

Claire  sat  down  in  her  habit. 

"  I  hope  you've  not  been  dull,  Mary?"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  no,  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Lexton.  "  It  sounds  rude, 
but  I  have  scarcely  missed  you.  I've  been  wandering  about 
this  lovely  place,  and  trying  to  persuade  myself  that  it  is  all 
real.  It  is  like  a  beautiful  picture.  I  haven't  seen  half  of  it 
yet." 

"  We  will  make  a  tour  of  inspection  after  lunch,"  said 
Claire. 

Mrs.  Lexton  looked  at  her  admiringly. 

"  And  I  have  not  quite  persuaded  myself  that  you  are  real, 
Claire,"  she  said.  ll  How  well  you  look!  Did  you  have  a 
nice  ride?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Claire,  rather  absently. 

She  was  asking  herself  whether  she  should  tell  Mrs.  Lexton 
about  her  meeting  with  Gerald  Wayre;  then,  ashamed  of  her 
hesitation,  she  said,  quickly: 

"  I  have  had  quite  an  adventure  this  morning.  I  went  up 
to  the  chapel  on  the  hill  and  met  Mr.  Wayre,  the  gentleman 
who  found  my  spray  last  night.  He  is  an  architect,"  she 
smiled,  and  ever  so  many  other  things,  and  he  is  sketching 
the  chapel." 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Lexton,  with  placid  interest,  "  ia  he  a 
elerer  young  man?" 


THE  MISTEESS  OF  COURT  EEGKA.  40 

"Yes,  I  think  so,"  said  Claire,  with  an  indifference  which 
she  felt  was  assumed.  "  I  only  saw  a  part  of  a  sketch  which 
he  had  made.  Shall  we  go  for  a  drive  this  afternoon,  or 
would  you  like  to  wander  about  the  grounds,  Mary?" 

Mrs.  Lexton  said  that  she  would  rather  see  something  more 
of  the  house. 

"  I  feel  that  I  want  to  know  it  as  soon  as  possible,"  she 
said. 

Claire  laughed. 

"  Your  enthusiasm  is  quite  catching,  Mary/'  she  said, 
"  although  I  have  been  here  so  many  years,  there  are  some 
parts  of  the  house  that  I  have  not  been  into.  A  portion  was 
always  kept  closed  during  Lord  Wharton's  life;  and  since  his 
death,"  her  voice  dropped,  "  I  have  felt  no  desire  to  penetrate 
into  it.  The  inhabited  part  is  quite  huge  enough  for  one 
person,  and  I  am  glad  you  have  come,  Mary,  to  share  it  with 
me.  Wait  till  I  have  changed  my  habit  and  we  will  start 
while  your  enthusiasm  is  still  hot." 

She  exchanged  her  habit  for  a  dress  of  plain  white  merino, 
whose  black  sash  made  it  a  significant  mourning,  and  they 
went  into  the  ground  and  toward  the  wing  which  Gerald 
Wayre  had  spoken  of  on  the  preceding  night.  Here  the  walls 
were  closely  covered  by  ivy,  which  had  partly  overgrown  some 
of  the  windows.  With  its  arched  door-way  and  diamond 
panes,  the  wing  looked  very  ancient  and  somewhat  weird. 

"  How  exquisite!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lexton.  "And  this 
part  is  unoccupied?" 

"  Yes,  and  has  been  for  years.  I  think  the  rooms  have 
been  left  undisturbed  since  the  time  of  Lord  Wharton's  grand- 
father. The  village  folk  say  that  it  is  haunted,  and  that 
figures  of  the  usual  vagueness  and  whiteness  are  seen  to  pass 
the  windows.  I  believe  that  a  murder  was  once  committed  in 
one  of  the  rooms." 

"How  delightful!"  said  Mrs.  Lexton,  with  a  shudder. 
"  We  can  get  in,  I  suppose?" 

"  I  have  brought  some  old  keys  with  me,"  said  Claire, 
"and  I  am  hoping  that  one  will  fit.  Yes;  this  is  the  one. 
How  stiff  the  lock  is!" 

The  key  turned  after  some  pressure,  and  the  door  creaked 
back  on  its  hinges.  They  entered  a  small  passage  with  an 
old  worm-eaten  stair  at  the  further  end.  Dust  lay  thick 
everywhere,  and  to  Mrs.  Lexton's  consternation  a  mouse,  as 
much  startled  as  she  was,  scampered  across  the  oak  floor. 
They  opened  the  doors  leading  to  the  ground-floor  rooms,  and. 
found  themselves  in  spacious  apartments,  furnished  in  old- 


50  THE  MISTBESS  OF  COURT  KEGtfl. 

world  style,  and  with  the  dust  as  thick  as  in  the  hall.  Clairt 
looked  round  her  curiously,  and  Mrs.  Lexton  held  her  breath. 

"  I  can  quite  understand  the  village  people's  belief,"  she 
said;  "  the  place  feels  haunted.  What  magnificent  furniture! 
Claire,  it  is  a  sin  to  leave  it  here,  neglected  and  going  to 
ruin." 

"  Let  us  go  upstairs,"  said  Claire. 

They  went  up  to  the  upper  floor.  It  was  as  fully  furnished 
as  the  rooms  below.  One  was  a  bedroom,  with  the  hangings 
to  the  bed  in  rents,  torn  by  the  hand  of  Time.  A  satin  cover- 
let lay  across  a  chair,  as  if  it  had  been  thrown  there  the  night 
previous. 

"  The  murder  may  have  been  committed  in  that  bed!"  said 
Mrs.  Lexton  in  an  awe-struck  voice.  "  Let  us  come  away!" 

They  went  into  the  opposite  room,  and  Mrs.  Lexton  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  surprise. 

"  Why,  this  has  been  used  lately,"  she  said. 

It  was  furnished  as  a  sitting-room,  with  old  oak  furniture 
and  dark  maroon  hangings.  There  were  pictures  on  the 
walls,  and  ashes  in  the  grate,  and  the  dust  was  not  nearly  so 
thick  as  it  was  hi  the  other  rooms  they  had  visited. 

"  See,  Claire,  some  one  has  been  writing  at  this  bureau!" 
said  Mrs.  Lexton.  "  Here  is  the  pen  and  some  torn  paper!" 

"  I  do  not  know  who  could  have  used  it,"  said  Claire. 
"  Unless  it  was  Lord  W barton;  and  I  do  not  know  why  he 
should  come  here.  That  door  must  lead  to  the  inhabited  part 
of  the  house.  He  could  come  in  here  through  that." 

As  she  indicated  the  door,  Mrs.  Lexton  started,  and  erinped 

*  ii     -        *  'Oil 

Claire  s  arm. 

"  What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Claire. 

"  There  is  some  one  moving  behind  that  door!" 

They  both  stood  motionless  and  listened.  Mrs.  Lexton 
went  pale.  Claire  heard  a  faint  noise  and  the  door  opened 
slowly.  Mrs.  Lexton  emitted  a  faint  scream.  The  door 
opened  wider,  and  Mr.  Sapley  appeared. 

He  started  at  sight  of  them,  and  a  curious  look  passed  over 
his  face;  then  he  bowed,  and  his  large  mouth  twisted  into  a 
smile. 

"  Miss  Sartoris!"  he  said. 

Claire  had  regained  her  self-possession  in  a  moment 

"  Yon  frightened  us,  Mr.  Sapley,"  she  said.  "  I  thought 
no  one  came  here?" 


He  looked  at  her  sharply  with  his  small  eyes. 
*  No  one  does,"  he  said;  "  but  I—I  was  tolc 


told  that  a  part  of 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  51 

the  wing  was  falling  to  ruin,  and  I  thought  I  would  look  to 
it.  I  am  disturbing  you;  I  will  go,  and  come  another  time." 

"  No,  please,"  said  Claire.  "  I  should  like  to  see  the  part 
you  speak  of." 

Mrs.  Lexton  had  drawn  back  behind  her.  Mr.  Sapley's 
peculiar  physiognomy  impressed  her  more  unpleasantly  even 
than  it  had  done  the  night  before. 

"  Certainly,"  he  said,  obsequiously.  "  It  must  be  at  the 
further  end.  If  you  will  follow  me." 

They  followed  him  down-stairs,  and  into  the  open  air.  Mrs. 
Lexton  drew  a  breath  of  relief,  and  even  Claire  was  glad  to 
get  into  the  sunlight.  Mr.  Sapley  looked  up  and  down  the 
wing,  and  poked  about  with  his  stick. 

"  Yes;  it  is  bad,"  he  said.  "  I  think  it  had  better  be  seen 
to  at  once.  The  whole  of  this  part  ought  to  come  down  and 
be  rebuilt.  It  ought  to  have  been  done  before.  It  will 
require  some  care;  I  will  get  an  architect  from  Exeter  or 
from  London. " 

At  the  word  "architect,"  a  thought  flashed  through 
Claire's  mind. 

"  I  know  an  architect  who  will  do  it,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Sapley  turned  his  eyes  upon  her  sharply. 

"  You  know  an  architect?"  he  said,  as  if  he  were  off  his 
guard  for  a  moment;  then,  recovering  himself,  he  smirked: 
**  Who  is  he,  Miss  Sartoris?  I  hope  he  is  a  good  one;  it  will 
need  some  skill." 

Claire  looked  straight  before  her  with  a  look  of  decision 
which  Mr.  Sapley  had  learned  to  know  and  hate. 

"  His  name  is  Gerald  Wayre,"  she  said,  "  and  he  is  staying 
in  the  village." 

Mr.  Sapley  started  slightly,  and  his  small  eyes  turned 
inward,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  remember  something. 

"  Certainly!"  he  said.    "  Any  one  you  wish,  Miss  Sartoris." 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

GERALD  was  sitting  at  breakfast  the  second  morning  after 
his  meeting  with  Claire  at  the  chapel,  when  Lucy  entered  with 
a  letter. 

"  For  me?"  he  said,  looking  up  from  his  plate  in  some 
surprise.  For  there  was  no  one  from  whom  he  expected  a 
letter. 

*'  Yes,  sir,"  said  Lucy;  "  a  boy  has  just  brought  it  from 
Mr.  Sapley's." 
^  .She  flushed  a  little,  and  looked  down  as  she  spoke  the  name. 


53  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  EEGNA. 

"  Oh!"  said  Gerald,  queerly. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  summons  for  trespass. 

He  opened  the  letter,  and  his  grim  smile  changed  to  one  of 
astonishment.  The  note  was  a  short  one,  and  intimated  that 
Mr.  Sapley  would  be  glad  if  Mr.  Gerald  Wayre  could  meet 
him  at  the  Court  at  twelve  o'clock  that  day,  to  confer  with 
Mr.  Sapley  respecting  some  proposed  repairs  to  the  building. 
If  that  hour  would  be  inconvenient,  perhaps  Mr.  Wayre  would 
came  another. 

Gerald  laid  the  note  on  the  table,  and  gazed  at  it  reflect- 
i  vclv 

Though  the  letter  had  come  from  Mr.  Sapley,  the  agent, 
Gerald  knew,  or,  rather,  felt,  that  it  had  been  ordered  by  the 
mistress  of  the  Court.  How  should  Mr.  Sapley  know  that  he 
was  an  architect,  or,  knowing  it,  be  willing  to  employ  him? 
Should  he  go?  Prudence  whispered:  "  Send  a  polite  refusal; 
it  will  be  better  for  you  not  to  see  any  more  of  the  Miss  Sar- 
toris  whose  glove  you  have  got  hidden  in  your  waistcoat- 
pocket,  just  over  your  heart;  indeed,  it  will  be  wise  of  you  to 
pack  up  your  few  belongings  and  depart  from  Eegua  for  some 
distant  clime— as  distant  as  possible."  But  at  Gerald's  age 
Prudence  is  not  often  listened  to.  The  prospect  of  doing  any- 
thing to  the  Court,  the  thought  of  the  few  pounds  which 
remained  in  his  purse,  tempted  him  to  acceded  to  Mr.  Sapley 's 
concise  but  polite  request. 

"  Anyhow,  I'll  go  and  see  what  he  wants,"  he  said.  "  Beg- 
gers  ought  not  to  be  choosers;  and  if  I  don't  like  it  I  can  say 
no.  There  will  be  no  harm  done." 

He  found  the  boy  who  had  brought  the  note  sitting  in  a 
ramshackle  room,  which  was  attached  to  the  cottage,  and 
formed  the  inn  part  of  it 

"  Tell  Mr.  Sapley  '  all  right;'  I  will  be  there,"  he  said. 

Then  he  went  to  his  room  and  put  on  his  best  suit,  got  his 
box  of  drawing  instruments,  and  a  block  of  cartridge  paper, 
and  went  out. 

It  was  much  too  early  to  present  himself  at  the  Court,  and 
he  made  a  round  of  it,  thinking  deeply  as  he  went.  He  had 
no  idea  of  what  was  wanted,  or  whether  he  would  be  man 
enough  for  the  job;  but  he  had  never  lacked  confidence,  and 
it  did  not  desert  him  on  this  occasion. 

As  he  strode  along  he  stopped  now  and  again  to  look  round 
him — at  the  village  lying  m  the  clefts  of  the  rocks,  at  the 
prosperous  farms,  at  the  thick  woods  and  fertile  uplands;  and 
reminded  himself  for  about  twenty  times  that  they  all 
belonged  to  this  young  lady  who  had  sent  for  him;  that  she 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGKA.  53 

Was  rich,  and  a  power  in  the  land,  and  that  he  was  a  poor 
devil  of  an  adventurer  upon  whom  she  had  taken  pity.  She 
had  been  so  friendly  with  him  up  at  the  chapel  that  he  had 
been  inclined  to  forget  the  difference  between  them;  he  must 
be  on  his  guard  against  forgetting  it  for  the  future. 

As  the  stable  clock  struck  twelve,  he  went  up  the  terrace 
steps,  and  was  met  by  the  butler  at  the  hall  door. 

"Mr.  "Way re,  sir?"  he  said,  interrogatively;  "this  way, 
please."  And  he  led  Gerald  into  the  library. 

Mr.  Sapley  was  seated  at  the  table,  and  he  rose  and  looked 
at  Gerald  with  a  keen  scrutiny  in  his  small  eyes.  Now,  he 
had  intended  to  treat  this  unknown  young  man  with  a  curt 
kind  of  condescension,  with  the  patronizing  manner  with 
which  Mr.  Sapley's  kind  only  barely  veil  their  insolence;  but 
there  was  something  in  Gerald's  manner  and  countenance 
which  made  Mr.  Sapley  pause. 

Gerald  did  not  look  the  kind  of  man  to  submit  to  insolence, 
however  veiled;  and  there  was  something  in  the  calm,  grave 
regard  of  the  dark  eyes,  something  in  the  self-possessed  bear- 
ing of  the  strong  and  graceful  figure  which  made  Mr.  Sapley 
lower  his  eyes  and  shuffle  his  huge,  fiat  feet  uneasily. 

"Mr.  Wayre,  I  presume?    Will  you  take  a  seat?" 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Gerald;  and  he  sat  down. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  Mr.  Sapley  started  slightly,  and 
glanced  at  him  with  a  keener  scrutiny. 

"  Miss  Sartoris — whom  you  have  met,  I  believe?"  he  put 
the  question  as  if  he  were  assured  of  an  affirmative,  "  desired 
me  to  write  to  you  respecting  some  repairs  that  are  required 
in  the  old  part  of  the  Court.  You  are  an  architect,  Mr. 
Wayre?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Gerald. 

"  I  ask  you,  because  I  do  not  find  your  name  in  the 
directory." 

"It  isn't  there,"  said  Gerald.  "  I  am  not  a  member  ol 
the  Institute;  or,  indeed,  a  recognized  member  of  the  profes- 
sion," he  added,  frankly. 

Mr.  Sapley  looked  at  him  with  a  mixture  of  suspicion  and 
satisfaction. 

"  That  is  rather  awkward,  Mr.  Wayre,"  he  said.  "  The 
work  we  wished  to  consult  you  about  it  rather — er — a  delicate 
business.  It  is  the  restoration  of  an  ancient  part  of  the  Court, 
and  requires  some  technical  knowledge  and  skill.  I  am  afraid 
Miss  Sartoris  did  not  know  that  you  were  not  a  regular  pro- 
fessional." 

Before  Gerald  could  answer,  the  door  opened,  and  Mor* 


54.  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

daunt  Sapley  entered.     He  stopped  short  as  he  saw  Gerald, 
and  his  face  grew  red  and  ugly  with  malice  and  resentment. 
"  This  is  Mr.  Wayre;  my  son,  Mr.  Wayre,"  said  old  bapley. 
Gerald,  as  he  bowed,  regarded  Mr.  Mordaunt  without  a  sign 
of  recognition,  but  Mordaunt's  face  grew  redder  and  more 
sullen.  , . 

"  Mr.  Wayre  tells  me  that  he  is  not  a  professional  archi- 
tect," remarked  Mr.  Sapley. 

Mordaunt  looked  over  Gerald's  head.  "  Then  that  settles 
the  business,  I  should  think/'  he  said,  with  a  covert  sneer. 
"  We  couldn't  think  of  intrusting  important  work  to  an  ama- 
teur." 

"  I  am  scarcely  an  amateur,"  said  Gerald,  addressing  the 
father.     "  I  have  done  work  and  been  paid  for  it.     That 
removes  me  from  the  category  of  amateur,  does  it  not?" 
"  What  work?"  asked  Mr.  Sapley. 
Gerald  mentioned  his  jails  and  other  buildings. 
"  Abroad,  on  the  other  side  of  the  world!"  said  Mordaunt, 
lounging  against  the  window  and  eying  Gerald  with  an  affec- 
tation of  contempt. 

"  Have  you  done  nothing  in  England?"  asked  Mr.  Sapley. 
"  Nothing,"  said  Gerald,  quietly. 

Mr.  Sapley' s  face  grew  clearer,  and  his  manner  a  little  more 
pompons. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  we  could  scarcely  give  you  the  commis- 
sion under  the  circumstances,"  he  said.  "  We  have  no 
evidence  of  your  capacity." 

"  Very  good,"  said  Gerald;  and  he  rose.  "  I  think  you're 
acting  quite  reasonably,  and  I  don't  complain;  indeed,  I  am 
much  obliged  to  you  for  having  given  me  the  chance.  Good- 
morning,  gentlemen." 

Mr.  Sapley  rubbed  his  chin  and  glanced  at  him  hesitat- 
ingly, but  did  not  speak,  and  Gerald  had  nearly  reached  the 
Hoor  when  it  opened  and  Claire  stood  on  the  threshold.  She 
I  looked  very  tall  and  statuesque  in  her  white  frock,  and  Ger- 
ald, as  he  drew  back  slightly,  felt  his  heart  give  one  throb  of 
admiration.  She  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  then  bowed 
to  him.  He  noticed  that  she  did  not  give  him  her  hand. 

"  Good-morning,"  she  said,  calmly.  "  Is  the  business 
finished  already?"  and  she  looked  inquiringly  at  Mr.  Sapley. 
'  It  is,  Miss  Sartoris,"  said  Gerald,  with  a  faint  smile, 
which,  however,  did  not  conceal  his  disappointment.  "  Mr- 
Sapley  does  not  consider  that  I  have  experience,  reputation, 
enough  for  this  work— whatever  it  is;  and  I  have  no  right  to 


THE  MISTKESS  OF  COURT  EEGNA.  fiS 

complain  of  his  decision.  It  was  very  kind  of  you — of 
him  " — he  corrected  himself  quickly — "  to  send  for  me." 

A  faint  color  rose  to  Claire's  face  as  she  stepped  into  the 
room  and  stood  by  the  table. 

"  There  must  be  some  mistake,"  she  said;  and  she  looked 
at  Mr.  Sapley  with  the  expression  of  reserve  which  almost 
amounted  to  hauteur.  "  Have  you  told  Mr.  Wayre  what  is 
necessary  to  be  done,  what  is  required?" 

Mr.  Sapley  drew  his  beetle  brows  over  his  eyes. 

"  No/'  he  said,  as  curtly  as  he  dared.  "  Mr.  Wayre  has 
not  been  here  five  minutes.  I  asked  him  a  few  questions  as 
to  his  experience — usual  questions — and  he  admitted  that  he 
had  done  nothing  of  the  kind  in  England,  and  appeared  to 
agree  with  me  that  the  work  ought  to  be  intrusted  to  a 
responsible  architect." 

Claire  glanced  at  Gerald,  who  offered  no  contradiction  of 
Mr.  Sapley's  statement. 

"  But  Mr.  Wayre  has  not  seen  the  part  of  the  building  that 
requires  alteration,  repair?"  she  said,  half  interrogatively. 
"  Had  you  not  better  see  it  before  you  decide?"  and  she 
turned  to  him. 

"  I  shall  be  very  pleased,"  replied  Gerald. 

"Very  well,  then!"  she  said,  with  a  woman's  impatience 
and  impulsiveness.  "  It  would  be  better  for  us  to  go  and  see 
it  instead  of  wasting  time  talking  of  preliminaries." 

Mr.  Sapley's  face  darkened  for  a  moment,  then  put  on  his 
obsequious  smile. 

"  A  very  good  suggestion,  Miss  Sartoris,"  he  said.  "  I  was 
just  about  to  make  it  when  you  came  in;  but  Mr.  Wayre 
caught  me  up,  so  to  speak.  We  will  go  and  see  the  wing  at 
once.  This  way,  Mr.  Wayre." 

Claire  passed  out  of  the  room,  but  paused  in  the  hall.  "  I 
will  go  with  you,"  she  said;  and  she  went  up  the  stairs  for  her 
hat. 

The  three  men  went  out,  Mr.  Mordaunt,  at  whom  Claire 
had  not  even  glanced,  bringing  up  the  rear  and  eying  the  back 
of  Gerald's  head  with  sullen  hatred.  He  had  "  got  himself 
up  "  in  an  expensive  and  beautifully  fitting  riding- suit,  and 
as  he  regarded  himself  and  compared  his  clothes  with  Gerald's 
well-worn  ones,  he  was  filled  with  an  amazed  resentment  that 
Claire  should  have  bestowed  all  her  attention  on  this  stranger 
and  left  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley  unnoticed.  Who  was  the  fel- 
low? and  why  was  she  so  friendly  toward  him?  Why  didn't 
•he  let  the  beggar  take  himself  off? 


gg  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

"  This  is  the  wing/'  said  Mr.  Sapley,  acidly,  and  pointing 
to  it  with  a  claw-like  finger. 

"  It  is  a  very  fine  specimen  of  early  English,"  said  Gerald. 

"  Yes,"  assented  Mr.  Sapley,  insolently.  "  And  ought  not 
to  be  .spoiled  by  ignorant  patching." 

' "  You  are  right,"  said  Gerald,  cheerfully,  as  he  examined 
the  weak  places.  "  I  should  think  a  great  portion  of  it — 
from  that  window,  say — ought  to  come  down  and  be  rebuilt. 
The  old  plan  might  be  even  improved  upon. " 

Mr.  Mordaunt  sneered. 

"  That  would  require  a  first-class  architect,"  he  said. 

Gerald  nodded  with  a  pleasant  frankness,  which  was  more 
indicative  of  his  contempt  for  Mr.  Mordaunt's  opinion  than 
any  words  could  have  been. 

"  Quite  true,"  he  said.  "  The  question  is — whether  I  am 
architect  enough?" 

As  he  spoke,  Claire  came  down  the  terrace  and  joined  them. 

"  Well?"  she  said,  addressing  no  one  of  them  in  particular; 
but  Gerald  turned  to  her. 

"  A  greater  part  of  this  wing  should  be  rebuilt,  Miss  Sar- 
toris,"  ne  said.  "  I  can  not  say  how  much  until  I  have  made 
a  minute  examination.  I  will  do  so,  if  you  wish,  and  I  will 
make  the  drawing  of  the  rebuilding  I  should  recommend.  If 
you  approve  of  the  plan,  and  desire  to  employ  me,  I  shall  be 
glad  to  do  the  work.  If  not — well,  there  is  no  harm  done, 
and  Mr.  Sapley  can  sent  for  an  architect  of  repute.  There 
are  plenty  who  would  be  delighted  with  such  a  commission 
as  this." 

He  spoke  pleasantly  and  frankly,  but  his  tone  was  quite 
different  to  that  with  which  he  had  talked  to  her  two  morn- 
ings ago.  It  was  as  if  he  wished  to  mark  the  difference 
between  them,  to  indicate  that  he  was  sensible  of  the  fact  that 
ahe  was  his  employer  and  he  her  servant. 

Claire  kept  her  "eyes  fixed  on  the  building.  She  noticed  the 
alteration  in  his  manner. 

"  That  is  a  very  fair  offer,  Mr.  Sapley?" 

"  Oh,  very  fair,"  he  assented,  sourly.  "  You  bind  yourself 
to  nothing,  of  course,  Miss  Sartoris." 

"  Of  course!"  said  Gerald,  emphatically. 

11  It  does  not  sound  quite  fair,  after  all,"  said  Claire,  still 
looking  at  the  building.  "  If  I  should  not  like  the  plans,  Mr. 
Wayre  will  have  had  all  his  work  for  nothing. " 

"  I  shall  be  quite  content,"  said  Gerald,  quickly.  "  Frankly, 
I  am  hoping  you  will  like  the  plans;  anyway,  I  shall  be  de- 
lighted to  seize  the  opportunity  of  studying  the  old  work," 


THE  MISTEESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  5^ 

Mr.  Sapley's  brows  went  up  and  down. 
'  Then  that  is  settled?"  he  said,  dryly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mordaunt,  with  his  Oxford  drawl.  "  Perhaps 
Mr.  Wayre  will  have  no  objection  to  putting  his  proposal  in 
writing." 

The  color  rose  to  Claire's  face,  and  she  seemed  about  to 
speak  quickly,  but  before  she  could  do  so,  Gerald  said: 

"  Quite  so;  that  is  only  right." 

"  And  give  us  a  couple  of  references,"  added  Mordaunt, 
staring  beyond  Gerald. 

Gerald  looked  at  him. 

"References?"  he  said,  quietly.     "I  am  afraid  I  cannot 
do  that." 

"  It  is  usual,"  said  Mordaunt,  with  a  still  more  pronounced 
drawl. 

"  I  know  no  one  in  England  to  whom  I  could  refer  you  as 
to  my  respectability,"  said  Gerald,  gravely,  but  with  no  sign 
of  resentment. 

"  Surely — "  began  Mordaunt,  with  a  faint  sneer;  but 
Claire  turned  to  Gerald  quickly. 

"  It  is  quite  unnecessary,"  she  said.  "  We  are  not  afraid 
that  you  will — run  away  with  the  old  wing,  Mr.  Wayre." 

Gerald  inclined  his  head,  perhaps  to  hide  the  swift  look  of 
gratitude  which  flashed  into  his  dark  eyes.  The  two  Sapleys 
exchanged  glances,  and  then  stared  at  the  ground. 

"  How  soon  can  you  commence?"  asked  Claire,  trying  to 
speak  in  a  matter-of-fact  way. 

"  At  once.  I  have  nothing  to  do/'  Mr.  Mordaunt  smiled 
significantly.  "  And  I  am  eager  to  begin." 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  as  if  the  matter  were  settled. 
"  Please  get  on  with  it  as  quickly  as  possible;  the  old  building 
may  be  dangerous.  Good-morning,  and  thank  you."  She 
inclined  her  head  and  moved  away  from  them,  and  the  Sap- 
leys  stood,  rather  awkwardly,  staring  at  the  building.  Then 
Mr.  Sapley  cleared  his  throat. 

"  I  don't  know  that  there  is  anything  else  to  arrange,  Mr. 
Wayre,"  he  said,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  finds  it  difficult 
to  be  civil.  "  Of  course,  it's  very — er — irregular,  but  Miss 
Sartoris  " — he  shrugged  his  heavy  shoulders — "  Miss  Sartoris 


is — 

(4 


Impulsive  and  confiding,"  put  hi  Mordaunt.     "  Well,  she 
is  responsible,  not  we. " 

Gerald  made  no  retort  to  this  pleasant  remark,  but  pushed 
his  hat  from  his  brow  and  contemplated  the  wing  with  aa 
absorbed  air,  as  if  he  were  already  at  work  at  his  plans. 


58  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REQNA. 

"I  think  you  said  you  knew  no  one  in  England,  Mr. 
Wayre?"  said  Mr.  Sapley  in  a  dry,  suspicious  tone. 

''No  one,"  assented  Gerald,  quite  cheerfully.  "  I  have 
been  abroad  all  my  life.  The  wing  seems  quite  uninhabited." 

"  It  is.  Abroad?  What  part,  may  I  ask?"  said  Mr.  Mor- 
daunt,  insolently. 

Gerald  took  out  his  pocket-book,  and  jotted  down  a  memo- 
randum before  replying,  and  Mr.  Mordaunt's  face,  while  h« 
was  being  kept  waiting,  grew  red  with  suppressed  rage. 

"  America,"  said  Gerald,  at  last. 

"  Rather  a  large  address,"  sneered  Mordaunt,  taking  out  a 
cigarette. 

"  Isn't  it?"  said  Gerald,  with  a  pleasant  smile.  '  Mr. 
Sapley,  shall  I  find  a  ladder  about  the  premises?  I  want  to 
get  on  to  the  roof." 

"  Yes,  in  the  stable-yard,  no  doubt,"  said  Mr.  Sapley, 
grimly. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Gerald  in  the  most  cheerful  way;  "  then 
I'll  go  and  look  for  one." 

And  he  strode  off,  humming  the  "  Soldiers'  Chorus  "  from 
"Faust." 

Father  and  son  looked  at  each  other. 

"  What  the  devil  does  it  mean?"  demanded  Mordaunt,  with 
suppressed  fury.  "  She  must  be  mad  to  trust  this  fellow — a 
complete  stranger,  for  all  she  knows,  a  common  thief  and 
swindler — with  such  work.  He  ought  not  to  be  permitted 
near  the  Court!  I  say  he  may  be  a  common  thief  and 
swindler,  for  all  we  know.  She  must  be  mad!  Why,  she 
seems  to — to  have  taken  a  fancy  to  the  beast." 

Mr.  Sapley  shook  his  head. 

"  That's  not  likely,"  he  said,  as  if  he  were  speaking  to 
himself.  "  She's  too  proud;  it's  just  a  whim.  And,  between 
you  and  me,  Mordy,  we're  to  blame  for  the  way  things  have 
gone.  We  were  too  sharp  for  him  before  her.  You  put  your 
foot  in  it,  asking  for  references — 

Mordaunt  turned  upon  him  with  a  currish  snarl. 
'  That's  right,  blame  me,  of  course!"  he  said.     "  I  tell  you 
it  wouldn't  have  mattered  what  we  had  done  or  said;  she  had 
made  up  her  mind  to  employ  him.     She  had  taken  a  fancy  to 
the  fellow." 

Mr.  Sapley  shook  his  head. 
'  No,''  he  said,  reflectively.     "  But  it  doesn't  matter—" 

Doesn't  matter?"  echoed  Mordaunt,  with  a  sneer. 
'  No,"  said  Mr.  Sapley,  his  brows  well  over  his  eyes,  &• 
under  lip  projecting  with  an  expression  half  resolute,  half. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGflU.  69 

threatening.  "  It  doesn't  matter!  Don't  you  be  afraid,  Mor- 
daunt.  You  keep  your  eyes  open  and  wait.  Wait!  I'll  give 
her  rope  enough — " 

His  voice  died  into  an  incoherent  mutter  as  he  turned  and 
walked  away,  with  bent  head  and  scowling  brows. 


r    CHAPTER  VIII. 

GERALD  went  round  the  end  of  the  house  in  search  of  the 
stables.  He  quite  understood  the  Sapleys'  antagonism  to 
him:  a  man  you  have  knocked  down  doesn't  generally  love 
you.  But  Gerald  was  not  much  concerned,  and  felt  that  he 
could  hold  his  own  against  both  father  and  son,  especially  if 
Miss  Sartoris  stood  his  friend,  as  she  had  done  this  morning. 

How  lovely  she  looked  in  her  plain  white  frock — and  how 
proud  and  reserved !  He  thought  of  Diana  and  several  other 
goddesses;  then  pulled  himself  up  short. 

"  What  you  have  to  do,  my  friend,  is  to  restore  the  wing  of 
Court  Eegna,  not  moon  about  the  beauty  of  its  mistress!" 

On  his  way  to  the  stables  he  came  upon  a  tiny  cottage.  It 
was  quite  a  surprise  to  him,  for  it  was  almost  hidden  in  a 
little  shrubbery.  It  stood  in  a  miniature  garden  all  aglow 
with  flowers,  and  was  so  pretty  an  object  that  Gerald,  artist- 
like,  stopped  to  admire  it. 

As  he  did  so,  a  little  girl,  leading  an  old  woman  by  the 
hand,  came  out.  At  sight  of  Gerald  they  paused  on  the 
threshold,  the  girl  bobbed  a  courtesy,  and  the  old  woman, 
screening  her  eyes  with  a  trembling  hand,  peered  at  Gerald 
for  a  moment,  then  courtesied,  and  murmured  something 
inaudible. 

"  I  don't  know,  granny;  it's  a  stranger,"  said  the  girl, 
shyly. 

Gerald  raised  his  hat,  and  seeing  that  they  were  making  for 
a  rustic  seat,  drew  it  forward  into  the  sun  for  them.  The 
girl  thanked  him,  with  downcast  eyes,  and  the  old  lady  watched 
him  intently,  and  her  lips  moved  again. 

"  Thank  you,  my  lord,"  she  said  in  a  thin  voice. 

"  You  are  quite  welcome,"  said  Gerald,  gently.  "  But  I'm 
afraid  you  mistake  me  for  some  one  else;  I  am  not  a  lord — 
worse  luck!" 

The  old  woman  listened  intently,  and  a  smile  flickered  over 
her  face — an  eager,  wistful  smile,  which  touched  Gerald. 

"  Your  lordship  is  very  kind,"  she  quavered.  "  I  trust 
her  ladyship  is  well;  I  have  not  seen  her  of  late," 


00  THE  MISTRBSS  OF  COURT  REQNA. 

"  Whom  does  she  take  me  for?"  Gerald  asked  of  the  little 

€r"iT*| 

"  I— I  don't  quite  know,  sir,"  she  replied,  shyly.  "  She- 
she  is  very  old,  and  often  doesn't  quite  know  what  she  says." 

Gerald  nodded,  and  raising  his  hat  again,  with  his  pleasant 
smile,  passed  on. 

One  of  the  pensioners  of  the  Court;  an  old  servant,  no 
doubt,  he  thought. 

He  went  into  the  stable-yard,  and  inquired  of  one  of  the 
met.  for  a  ladder.  He  was  grooming  a  horse,  and  touched  his 
hat  respectfully  as  he  answered: 

"  There's  one  at  the  back  of  the  yard,  sir;  I'll  get  it." 

"  No,  no!"  said  Gerald.  "  I'll  get  it.  Don't  leave  your 
horse;  they  hate  being  left  in  the  middle  of  their  toilet." 

"  So  they  do,  sir,  so  they  do!"  said  the  man,  with  no  abate- 
ment of  his  respect.  "  It  isn't  every  gentleman  that  under- 
stands that." 

"  I've  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  horses,"  said  Gerald. 
"That's  a  good  mare." 

The  man  beamed  with  pleasure.  "  It's  Miss  Sartoris's," 
he  said.  "  Yes,  she's  almost  human,  as  you  may  say,  sir. 
Miss  Sartoris  pets  her,  and  horses  are  quick  to  catch  at  kind- 
ness, ain't  they,  sir?  I'll  get  the  ladder  for  you  almost  in  a 
minute." 

"  No;  you  go  on;  I'll  manage  it,"  said  Gerald.  He  found 
the  ladder,  and,  though  it  was  a  good  weight,  got  it  on  his 
shoulder  and  set  off  with  it.  The  man  eyed  him  with  ap- 
proval. "  That's  a  gentleman,  anyhow,  Bess,  for  all  he  ain't 
above  carrying  a  ladder,"  he  remarked  to  the  mare;  and  she 
pricked  up  her  ears  and  tossed  her  head  in  assent. 

Gerald  carried  his  ladder  round  to  the  front  of  the  wing  and 
mounted  to  the  roof.  As  he  had  expected,  he  found  it  in  a 
very  bad  condition.  It  would  all  have  to  come  down.  He  stood 
with  one  foot  on  the  parapet,  looking  at  the  view,  not  know- 
ing that  Claire  and  Mrs.  Lexton  were  looking  at  his  tall  figure 
standing  out  against  the  background  of  the  blue  sky.  When 
he  came  down  again  he  set  to  work  taking  measurements,  and 
then,  feeling  in  the  vein,  took  his  pipe,  and  seating  himself  on 
the  grass,  made  a  rough,  experimental  sketch  or  two.  Fortu- 
nately for  him  ho  was  an  artist  as  well  as  an  architect— the 
two  things  don't  always  go  together,  alas! — and  he  had  caught 
the  spirit  of  the  old  building.  He  sketched  rapidly,  and  with 
an  intense  eagerness,  now  and  again  jumping  up  to  take  a 
measurement  or  to  get  a  different  view. 

In  his  mind's  eye  he  gaw  the  old  wing,  not  only  restored, 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  KEGffA.  <J1 

but  improved.  He  would  throw  out  square  windows  in  the 
Elizabethan  style,  with  stained  glass  in  the  tops  of  the  latticed 
panes;  there  should  be  a  carved  stone  porch,  with  a  griffin,  or 
some  other  heraldic  animal,  at  either  side,  and  seats  within. 
He  pictured  to  himself  Miss  Sartoris  resting  there,  with  the 
sunlight  falling  on  her  through  the  leaves  of  the  ivy,  which, 
of  course,  should  trail  over  the  porch,  and — he  started,  for 
t/laire's  voice  suddenly  woke  him  from  the  dream  in  which 
he  had  been  so  absorbed  that  he  had  not  heard  or  seen  her  and 
Mrs.  Lexton's  approach. 

He  rose  and  slipped  his  pipe  in  his  pocket — at  the  imminent 
risk  of  a  conflagration. 

"  Are  you  here  still?"  asked  Claire.  It  did  not  sound  very 
hospitable,  but  he  understood.  "  Mary,  this  is  Mr.  Wayre." 

Gerald  raised  his  hat  and  bowed,  and  he  and  Mrs.  Lexton 
looked  at  each  other,  and  Mrs.  Lexton  was  at  once  favorably 
impressed.  He  looked  at  his  watch." 

"  Four  o'clock!"  he  said.  "  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late! 
Time  passes  very  quickly  when  one  is  at  pleasant  work." 

"  And  have  you  had  no  lunch?"  asked  Claire,  with  a  little 
touch  of  self-reproach. 

He  laughed.  "  No;  but  I  can't  have  needed  it,  as  1  didn't 
think  of  it.  Tobacco  is  a  very  good  substitute,  Miss  Sartoris." 

"  We  ought  to  have  thought  of  it,  Mary,"  said  Claire, 
looking  at  Mrs.  Lexton  as  if  it  were  her  fault.  "  I  will  send 
you  out  something  at  once;  or  would  you  rather  come  into  the 
house?" 

"  Please  don't  trouble,"  he  said.  "  To  tell  you  the  truth, 
I  don't  care  to  break  off  just  now.  I'm  in  the  humor." 

"  And  we  interrupted  you,"  said  Claire,  gravely. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  Not  in  the  very  least. 
Please  don't  go — that  is,  if  you  want  to  stay.  I  mean — 

As  is  always  the  way,  Claire's  self-possession  increased  as 
his  diminished. 

"  Have  you  been  making  some  sketches?"  she  asked. 

"  Yes;  but  they  are  only  sketches,  not  finished  drawings,  of 
course. " 

Claire  smiled.     "  Oh,  we  won't  ask  to  see  them." 

"  You  may  see  them,"  he  said,  extending  them  to  her. 
She  did  not  take  them,  but  went  up  beside  him  and  looked  at 
them. 

"  How  beautiful!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lexton,  from  the  other 
side.  "  And  how  quickly  you  have  done  them!" 

"  They  are  just  impressions,"  he  said — "  memoranda,  so  to 
speak.  I  may  alter  them  altogether,  later  on," 


62  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

Claire  had  not  expressed  any  opinion  as  yet,  and  he  glanced 
at  her  expectantly. 

"  The  new  part  will  be  finer  than  the  old/'  she  said,  look- 
ing from  the  drawings  to  the  house. 

Gerald  felt  a  glow  of  satisfaction. 

"  I  sha'n't  alter  it  then,  much/'  he  said,  decisively.     "  1  , 
am  glad  you  are  pleased,  Miss  Sartoris;  and  I  hope  that  you 
will  like  the  finished  plans." 

"  May  I  look  at  them  again?"  she  said. 

"  Certainly;  I  am  afraid  they  are  very  grimy  as  well  as 
rough,  for  I  have  been  climbing  about  the  roof."  He 
glanced  at  his  hands.  Claire  looked  at  them  also,  and  noticed 
that  on  a  finger  of  the  left  hand  there  was  a  ring.  It  was  an 
old-fashioned  ring,  of  the  signet  kind,  with  an  engraved  stone. 

It  had  not  been  on  his  hand  when  they  were  up  at  the 
chapel.  She  only  noticed  it  vaguely,  her  attention  having 
been  attracted  by  the  quaintuess  of  the  form  of  the  ring. 

She  looked  at  the  sketches  closely.  "  This  is  the  outside 
only,"  she  said;  "  what  will  you  do  with  the  inside?" 

"  I  haven't  seen  that  yet.  It  all  depends  upon  the  other 
part  of  the  house;  I  mean  the  part  that  adjoins  this  wing." 

"  You  can  go  inside  now,  if  you  like/'  she  said;  "  I  have 
the  key." 
.    "  I  should  like  to,"  he  said. 

They  went  toward  the  door.  A  maid  crossed  the  lawn,  and 
Claire  beckoned  to  her.  "  Tell  Nichols  to  send  the  tea  out 
here,  please,"  she  said.  "  For  three." 

"  That  is  an  excellent  idea,  Claire,"  said  Mrs.  Lexton. 
"  It  would  have  been  painful  if  Mr.  Wayre  had  fallen  ex- 
hausted before  our  eyes. 

Gerald  laughed.  "1  have  gone  without  food  for  many 
more  hours  than  these,"  he  said,  lightly.  "  But  a  cup  of  tea 
will  be  delightful." 

He  opened  the  door,  and  they  entered.  He  was  deeply 
interested,  not  only  in  the  general  aspect  of  the  rooms,  but  hi 
their  plan  and  architecture. 

"  Oh!  these  must  be  saved,  if  possible!"  he  said,  enthusi- 
astically. "  Nothing  one  could  devise  could  fitly  replace 
them.  The  stone-work  is  magnificent,  and  the  carvings — 
well,  we  could  put  them  up  again,  it's  true,  but  it  wouldn't 
be  quite  satisfactory.  We  must  save  them.  That  is,  I  beg 
your  pardonl  1  am  talking  as  if  I  were  already  the  accepted 
architect" 

14  You  are.  I  hav«  seen  the  sketches  and  am  satisfied." 
said  Claire. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REG1U.  03 

He  inclined  his  head.  "Better  wait  until  the  plan  is 
finished;  Mr.  Sapley  may  also  then  be  satisfied." 

"  Mr.  Sapley?"  Claire  began,  laconically;  then  she  stopped. 
"  We  had  better  go  upstairs.  You  will  not  be  frightened  with 
Mr.  Wayre  to  protect  you,  Mary?" 

"  That  isn't  fair,  Claire!  You  were  just  as  frightened  as  I 
was!  We  were  in  the  room  the  other  day,  when  Miss  Sartoris 
was  telling  me  that  it  was  haunted,  when  we  heard  a  noise  be- 
hind that  door  and  some  one  entered.  It  was  only  Mr.  Sapley, 
but  we  were  both  scared  for  a  moment;  and  I  think  he  was  as 
much  startled  as  we  were." 

"  It  only  wants  a  real  well-authenticated  ghost  to  make  it 
perfect,"  said  Gerald.  "  This  room  has  been  occupied 
lately,"  he  remarked,  his  quick  eye  noticing,  as  they  had  done, 
the  comparative  freshness  of  the  room.  "  It  would  make  a 
delightful  sitting-room  or  library.  It  is  not  often  used,  of 
course?" 

"  Not  at  all,  that  I  am  aware  of,"  said  Claire. 

"  It  would  make  an  admirable  room  for  Mr.  Wayre  to  use 
while  he  was  at  work,"  remarked  Mrs.  Lexton. 

"  Oh,  I  can  work  in  the  open  air,  thank  you,"  he  said. 

"  It  rains  here  sometimes,"  said  Claire,  quietly.  "  You 
had  better  accept  Mrs.  Lexton's  suggestion." 

It  was  not  for  him  to  bandy  words  with  his  employer.  He 
bowed.  "  Very  good,  and  thank  you  very  much."  He 

f lanced  gratefully  at  Mrs.  Lexton.     "  I  may  take  that  old 
ureau  into  the  light  of  the  window?" 

"  You  may  arrange  the  furniture  as  you  please,  of  course," 
said  Claire. 

With  the  impulsiveness  of  his  nature,  he  went  to  the  bureau 
and  half  dragged,  half  carried  it  to  the  window.  "  By  the 
way,  there  may  be  some  papers  in  it,"  he  said,  as  he  looked 
at  it. 

"  They  will  not  be  of  any  consequence,  I  should  think," 
said  Claire.  "  You  can  keep  them  together  and  lock  them  up 
in  one  of  the  drawers." 

"  Very  well."  He  brushed  the  dust  from  his  hands,  then 
stopped  suddenly  and  looked  at  them  and  round  him  with  a 
kind  of  grave  anxiety. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  Have  you  hurt  your  hand?"  asked 
Mrs.  Lexton. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said.  "  I  have  dropped  my  ring — some- 
where." 

'  You  had  it  on  just  now,  outside,"  said  Claire. 

"  I  know,"  he  said.     "  Please  don't  trouble,"  for  of  course 


$4  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

they  were  looking  round  for  it.     "  I  shall  find  it  somewhere 
about  the  rooms.     I  don't  generally  wear  it,  for  it  is  too 

was  get- 


" No,"  he  said,  "  but  I  should  be  sorry  to  lose  it.  I  have 
had  it  all  my  life,  and  carried  it  safely  in  strange  places  and 
through  strange  scenes.  But  I  am  sure  to  find  it;  I  beg  you 
won't  trouble. 

"  Oh,  we  must  find  it!"  said  Mrs.  Lexton.  "  It  is  dread- 
ful to  lose  a  family  relic,  as  I  imagine  this  is." 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said,  grimly.  "  I  have  always  had  it. 
It  was  given  to  me  by  the  woman  who  took  charge  of  me 
when  I  was  a  lad.  I  don't  know  that  it  belonged  to  any  one 
belonging  to  me." 

Claire  had  said  nothing,  but  had  paced  to  and  fro  slowly, 
her  eyes  bent  on  the  ground,  and  even  in  that  moment  he 
noticed  how  exquisite  a  picture  she  made,  moving  with  infinite 
grace  through  the  antique  room.  Suddenly  she  stooped  and 
picked  up  the  ring. 

"  There  it  is!"  she  said,  holding  it  out  to  him. 

"  Oh,  thank  you!  Thank  you!"  he  said,  gratefully,  as  he 
took  it  from  her  and  placed  it  on  his  finger. 

"  You  should  have  kept  it  until  a  reward  was  offered, 
Claire,"  said  Mrs.  Lexton,  laughingly. 

"  Had  you  not  better  put  it  into  your  pocket;  you  may  lose 
it  again?"  said  Claire,  gravely. 

He  put  it  into  his  pocket  at  once.  If  she  had  said,  "  Had 
you  not  better  hang  it  round  your  neck  by  a  string?"  he 
would  have  obeyed. 

"If  we  rebuild  the  interior,  we  must  take  care  of  these 
panels,"  he  said,  indicating  the  oak  that  covered  the  walls. 
"  They  could  be  put  up  again  just  as  they  are,  for  they  are  iu 
capital  condition;  at  least,  nearly  all  of  them.  Some  of  them 
are  rather  shaky."  He  went  round  the  room  tapping  the 
dark,  worm-eaten  oak.  "  They  did  their  work  thoroughly  in 
those  days,"  he  saidj  "  these  are  as  firm  as  the  day  they  were 
put  up." 

As  he  spoke,  he  struck  one  of  the  panels  with  the  soft  side 
of  his  closed  hand,  and,  as  if  in  mockery  of  his  assertion,  a 
panel  just  above  his  head  sprung  loose,  and  hung  by  a  nail  on 
the  wall. 

Mrs.  Lexton  laughed. 

"  You  were  too  flattering,  Mr.  Way  re,"  she  said,     "  They 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGKA.  65 

did  not  build  as  strongly — '      She  stopped  in  mid-sentence. 
(t  Why,  what  is  that  behind  the  panel?"  she  asked,  timidly. 

Claire  and  Gerald  had  already  seen  it.  It  was  a  portrait  of 
a  lady. 

"  That  is  strange!"  he  said.  "  Did  you  not  know  it  was 
there,  Miss  Sartoris?" 

"  No,"  said  Claire,  not  taking  her  eyes  from  the  picture. 

It  was  the  portrait  of  a  young  woman,  the  face  one  of 
extreme  beauty,  but  of  a  type  unlike  that  of  the  family  pict- 
ures in  the  hall. 

Gerald  got  a  chair,  and  wiped  the  dust  from  the  painting. 

"  One  can  see  it  better  now,"  he  said;  and,  unconsciously, 
his  voice  grew  lower.  "  It  is  a  very  beautiful  face.  Do  you 
know  who  it  is,  Miss  Sartoris?" 

Claire  shook  her  head.  She  seemed  unable  to  withdraw  her 
eyes  from  the  picture. 

"No.  I  do  not  think  it  is  a  Wharton.  It  is  not  like  any 
of  them." 

"  I  wonder  why  it  was  hidden  in  this  way?"  Mrs.  Lexton 
said  in  almost  an  awed  voice.  "  We  seem  fated  to  meet 
with  the  mysterious  in  this  room,  Claire. " 

"  It  is  not  an  old  painting,"  said  Gerald,  who  had  been 
examining  it,  "  though  it  is  painted  in  the  Georgian  manner. 
There  is  something  Joshua  Reynoldish  about  it." 

He  touched  the  canvas  reverently  with  his  forefinger. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  it,"  said  Claire. 

"  Who  used  this  room?"  asked  Gerald. 

"  Lord  Wharton,  if  any  one,"  she  replied.  "  The  rooms 
adjoining  this — the  modern  rooms,  I  mean — were  sometimes 
used  by  him." 

"  Do  you  think  he  covered  it  up?"  asked  Mrs.  Lexton  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  The  hand  that  placed  that  panel  over  it  was  not  the  hand 
of  a  professional  carpenter,"  said  Gerald,  absently,  as  he  stood 
looking  at  the  portrait. 

"  You  are  interested  in  it,  Mr.  Wayre?"  said  Mrs.  Lexton. 

He  started  slightly. 

"  Yes,  naturallv,"  he  said.  "  It  is  rather  a  mysterious  find. 
It  is  well  painted,  and  it  is  a  pity  it  has  been  neglected. 
There  are  mold  spots — you  see?  It  ought  to  be  carefully 
cleaned." 

"  I  will  send  it  to  London,"  said  Claire. 

"  It  is  not  necessary  to  do  that,  if  you  will  intrust  it  to  me, 
Miss  Sartoris,"  he  said. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  simplT. 
« 


68  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

"  We  may  find  out  something  about  it,  Claire,"  remarked 

Mrs.  Lexton. 

Claire  looked  down  silently,  and  Gerald  understood  her  feel- 
ings in  an  instant. 

"  Lord  Wharton  would  like  his  secret  kept— if  it  was  his, 
she  said.     "  We  could  replace  the  picture  as  we  found  it— if 
you  wished,  Miss  Sartoris,"  he  added,  as  he  took  the  picture 
from  its  place,  and  stood  it  with  its  face  to  the  wall. 

Claire  had  moved  to  the  window. 

"  Yes.  Tea  is  ready,"  she  said.  "  Let  us  go  down. 
There  is  the  key,  Mr.  Wayre." 

She  handed  him  the  key  quite  naturally,  and  Gerald's  face 
flushed  at  this  fresh  proof  of  her  calm  confidence. 

The  servants  had  set  the  tea  on  a  table  under  a  tree,  and  it 
looked  particularly  inviting  to  Gerald,  who  was  beginning  to 
discover  that  he  was  hungry. 

"  I  must  wash  my  hands,"  he  said.  "No,  thank  you,  I 
won't  go  into  the  house;  there  is  a  pump  in  the  stable." 

Mrs.  Lexton  looked  after  him  with  an  approving  smile. 

"  I  think  you  have  discovered  a  treasure,  Claire,"  she  said  hi 
her  kind  fashion. 

Claire  looked  into  the  tea-pot  before  answering. 

"  Yes?    Mr.  Sapley  does  not  think  so,"  she  said. 

"  I  dare  say  not,"  said  Mrs.  Lexton.  "  Mr.  Sapley  did  not 
find  him!  How  I  do  dislike  the  look  of  that  old  man,  Claire! 
And  how  handsome  this  one  is!" 

Mrs.  Lexton  laughed. 

"  How  impassive  you  are,  Claire!  You  are  quite  right  to 
be.  Of  course,  he  is  only  a  kind  of  servant,  and  you  are  his 
employer;  but  I  must  say  that  he  never  for  a  moment  seems 
to  forget  it.  Nothing  could  be  nicer  than  his  manner." 

Gerald,  with  his  nice  manner,  came  back  at  this  moment 
and  Claire  gave  him  a  cup  of  tea.  There  was  no  chair  fo* 
him,  and,  after  handing  round  the  bread  and  butter,  he  sat 
down  on  the  grass. 

'  Yon  must  be  famished,  Mr.  Wayre,"  said  Mrs.  Lexton. 
"  Not  famished,  only  hungry,"  he  said,  laughing.     Claire 
extended  a  cake. 

'  You  shall  have  all  that  and  the  toast,"  she  said.  Gerald 
leaned  on  his  elbow  and  looked  at  the  two  ladies,  and  round 
about  him,  with  his  happiness  quite  plainly  portrayed  in  his 
countenance. 

;<  They  used  to  say  in  the  bush  that  I  had  the  devil's  own 
luck,  and  I  begin  to  think  that  I  have!"  he  thought.  "  If 
any  one  had  told  me,  three  days  ago,  that  I  should  be  sitting 


THE  MISTEESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  67 

here  drinking  tea  with  the  mistress  of  Court  Regna,  and 
engaged  as  her  architect,  I  should  have  laughed  him  to  scorn." 

He  turned  over  his  sketches.  "  I  shall  work  at  these  to- 
night," he  said,  almost  to  himself.  "  Fortunately,  there  is  a 
good  lamp  at  the  inn." 

"  You  are  staying  at  the  Hawkers'?"  said  Claire. 

"  Yes,"  he  said;  "  they  are  comfortable  diggings;  the  cap- 
tain is  a  remarkably  pleasant  old  man,  and  the  cooking  is  an 
agreeable  surprise;  while  Miss  Lucy  makes  a  model  waiting- 
maid,  and  is  attention  itself.  I  have  fallen  in  clover." 

Claire  glanced  at  him,  then  looked  straight  before  her 
thoughtfully.  He  had  spoken  Lucy's  name  quite  naturally, 
and  without  the  least  hesitation.  Why  had  the  girl  blushed 
and  been  so  confused  when  she  referred  to  her  lodger? 

"  There  are  some  very  interesting  characters  amongst  the 
fisher-folk  in  Regna,"  Gerald  went  on.  "I  fancy  an  author 
would  find  them  worth  studying.  Oh,  by  the  way,  speaking 
of  characters,  I  have  just  seen  an  extremely  interesting  old 
lady.  She  came  out  of  a  tiny  cottage  round  there.  She  was 
in  charge  of  a  little  girl,  and  they  were  sitting  in  the  garden, 
like  two  figures  out  of  an  Academy  picture.  A  most  delight- 
ful old  lady,  with  snow-white  hair  and  a  shrewd  old  face." 

"  You  must  mean  Mrs.  Burdon — Nurse  Burdon,  as  she  is 
always  called. " 

"  She  is  an  old  servant,  I  suppose?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Claire.     "  She  was  Lord  Wharton's  nurse." 

"  She  must  be  very  old,  Claire,"  remarked  Mrs.  Lexton. 

"  She  is  old,  very,  very  old.  No  one  knows  her  age.  I 
am  not  sure  that  she  knows  it  herself.  She  is  a  wonderful 
old  woman  in  her  way,  and  was,  until  lately,  in  possession  of 
all  her  faculties." 

"  You  must  take  me  to  see  her,  Claire." 

"  Yes,  I  often  go  and  sit  with  her,  and  though  she  does  not 
recognize  any  one,  she  always  remembers  me.  Her  mind 
•wanders  sometimes;  she  has  bad  and  good  days." 

"  This  must  be  one  of  her  bad  days,"  said  Gerald,  half 
absently. 

"Why?"  asked  Claire. 

"  Oh — "  He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  he  went  on,  with 
a  smile.  "  She  addressed  me  as  *  my  lord,'  when  she  saw  me, 
and  asked  after  'her  ladyship/  It  is  the  first  time  I  have 
been  mistaken  for  a  member  of  the  peerage,  and  I  was  rather 
astonished." 

Claire  smiled. 

"  That  is  strange,"  she  said. 


(Jg  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

"  Yes,  very  strange,"  he  said. 

"  I  meant  that  she  should  have  conferred  a  title  or  nobility 
upon  you.  She  does  not  often  make  mistakes  of  that  kind. 
I  wonder  for  whom  she  mistook  you." 

Gerald  shook  his  head.  "  I  may  bear  some  slight— very 
slight— resemblance  to  some  nobleman  in  the  locality/'  he 
suggested. 

Claire  thought  for  a  moment. 

<:  There  is  only  Lord  Chester,"  she  said,  "  and  he  is  an  old 

"  Should  you  like  to  be  a  peer,  Mr.  Wayre?"  asked  Mrs. 
Lexton  in  her  soft  voice. 

"  I  would  rather  be  Gerald  Wayre,  the  architect  of  the  new 
wing  at  Court  Regna,"  he  said. 

The  moment  the  words  had  left  his  lips  he  regretted  them, 
for  though  Miss  Sartoris's  face  had  shown  no  resentment,  he 
feared  she  might  think  the  response  presumptuous,  lie 
changed  the  subject  with  some  skill,  and  presently  rose. 

"  I  will  take  the  sketches  home  and  get  to  work,  Miss  Sar- 
toris.  Good-afternoon,  and  thank  you  very  much." 

There  was  a  moment  or  two  of  silence  after  he  had  gone, 
then  Mrs.  Lexton  remarked: 

"  How  well  he  said  that." 

"  What?"  asked  Claire,  absently. 

"  That  he  would  rather  be  himself  and  rebuild  the  wing, 
than  a  lord." 

Claire  looked  straight  before  her. 

"  It  was  rather  a  foolish  speech,"  she  said,  quietly. 

When  Gerald  had  reached  the  stables  he  remembered  the 
ladder.  He  pulled  up  with  a  slight  feeling  of  annoyance.  It 
would  not  do  to  leave  the  ladder  stuck  up  against  the  house, 
for,  though  burglars  might  be  vara  avi  at  Regna,  the  thing 
was  a  temptation  to  the  curious  as  well  as  to  the  dishonest. 
He  did  not  like  to  go  back,  and  yet  he  could  not  allow  the 
ladder  to  remain  there. 

"  What  nonsense!"  he  said,  jeering  at  himself  for  his 
reluctance.  "  Miss  Sartoris  will  not  notice  my  return  any 
more  than  she  would  that  of  any  other  workman  about  the 
place!" 

But  he  was  relieved  when  he  got  back  to  find  that  the  ladiea 
had  gone. 

He  shouldered  the  ladder  and  was  returning  with  it,  when 
he  saw  Claire  and  Mrs.  Lexton  standing  in  the  cottage  garden 
beside  Mrs.-  Bardon  and  the  little  girl.  He  intended  to  walk 


69 

past  them  without  any  sign,  but  as  he  caine  to  the  group,  the 
old  lady  dropped  a  courtesy  and  quavered  out: 

"  Good-morning,  my  lord!'" 

He  could  scarcely  let  the  quaint  salutation  go  without  any 
response,  and  so  he  smiled  and  nodded. 

Claire  laid  her  hand  on  the  woman's  arm  which  she  had 
drawn  within  her  own.  "  You  do  not  know  that  gentleman, 
xiurse?"  she  said. 

The  old  woman  looked  up  at  her  with  a  shrewd,  half- 
secretive  expression  in  the  faded  dim  eyes. 

"  Yes,  yes!"  she  said  in  her  thin  voice.  "  I  know  him  well 
enough,  and  so  do  you,  my  lady." 

Claire  changed  color  for  a  moment,  then  she  said,  gently, 
and  with  a  smile:  "And  now  you  don't  know  me!  I  am 
Claire  Sartoris,  your  little  girl,  as  you  used  to  call  me." 

"  I  know — I  know!"  crooned  Mrs.  Burdon,  nodding  her 
head  and  half  closing  her  eyes,  as  if  she  were  sharing  a  jest 
with  Claire. 

"  And  that  gentleman  is  Mr.  Way  re,"  said  Claire. 

"  Yes,  yes!  quite  right,"  said  the  old  woman.  "  Quite 
right,  my  lady.  I  know  his  lordship  as  well  as  I  know  you! 
Why  do  you  plague  me  so?"  she  broke  off  suddenly  with  the 
fretful  resentment  of  extreme  old  age. 

The  ivory  of  Claire's  face  grew  rose  tinted,  and  Gerald  has- 
tened to  her  relief. 

"  It  is  of  no  use,  Miss  Sartoris!"  he  said.  "  Mrs.  Burdon 
insists  upon  my  nobility — even  with  a  ladder  on  my  shoulder," 
and  with  a  laugh  he  hurried  on. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

GERALD  went  to  work  at  his  plans  that  same  evening.  The 
lamp,  as  he  had  said,  was  large;  it  was  also  hot,  but  he  did 
not  realize  how  warm  the  little  room  had  become  until  he  felt 
the  perspiration  starting  out  on  his  forehead.  Then  he  rose 
with  a  laugh,  and,  lighting  his  pipe,  strolled  out  for  a  stretch 
and  a  breath  of  fresh  air. 

It  was  a  lovely  night,  with  a  delightful  breeze  from  the  sea; 
and  he  sauntered  down  the  steep,  roughly  paved  path  to  the 
jetty.  He  was  quite  absorbed  in  his  work,  and  looked  at  the 
beautiful  seascape  absently  enough;  but  presently  he  became 
conscious  of  the  figure  of  a  young  girl  walking  along  the  beach 
and  close  to  the  cliffs,  which  rose  perpendicularly  from  the 
very  edge  of  the  sea-line. 

As  the  moon  emerged  from  a  bank  of  cloud  he  saw  that  the 


70  THB  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REONA. 

girl  was  Lucy  Hawker.  He  was  thinking,  absently  and 
casually,  that  it  was  rather  strange  for  her  to  be  walking  alone 
at  that  time  of  night;  but  concluding  that  she  was  tempted  by 
the  beauty  of  the  evening,  he  was  turning  away,  when  he  saw 
another  figure  come  down  a  path  and  join  her.  It  was  a 
young  man  this  time,  and  Gerald  fancied  he  bore  some  resem- 
blance in  form  and  bearing  to  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley;  but  he 
was  too  far  off  for  Gerald  to  identify  him,  and,  while  he  was 
looking,  the  two  figures  disappeared  round  a  bend  of  the  cliff. 

Gerald  was  just  at  that  moment  trying  to  decide  upon  a 
knotty  question  in  connection  with  the  plans,  and  forgot  all 
about  Lucy  and  her  companion  directly  they  passed  from 
his  sight.  He  solved  the  problem  in  about  half  an  hour,  and, 
relighting  his  pipe,  started  to  return  to  his  plans. 

There  was  another  road,  a  mere  track,  leading  direct  from 
the  beach,  and  he  decided  to  take  it  for  a  change,  and  was 
climbing  up  the  steep  path,  when  Lucy  dropped  in  front  of 
him  from  the  overhanging  rock. 

"  Miss  Lucy!"  he  said. 

She  started,  and  uttered  a  faint  cry  of  surprise  and  alarm, 
and  stood  looking  at  him  for  a  moment  or  two  with  wide-open 
eyes,  then  glanced  swiftly  over  her  shoulder. 

'  You — you  startled  me,  sir  I"  she  said. 

"  I  am  very  sorry/'  said  Gerald.  "  Where  did  you  spring — 
or,  rather,  drop — from?  I  thought  for  a  moment  that  it  was 
a  goat.  Is  there  a  path  up  there?" 


think  I  saw  you  down  on  the  beach  by  the  cliff,  didn't  I?" 
She  was  silent  for  a  moment;  then  she  said,  with  a  forced 

laugh: 

"I  dare  say,  sir;  I  was  down  there." 
"  And  not  alone?"  said  Gerald,  with  a  faint  smile. 
"  Oh,  yes!"  she  said;  "  I  was  alone—" 
11  That's  strange,"  said  Gerald.     "  I  thought—" 
Then  he  stopped.     It  was  scarcely  fair  to  make  any  remark 

upon  the  girl's  movements. 
"  At  least,  almost  all  the  time,"  she  said.     "  One  of  the 

fishermen  spoke  to  me;  perhaps  it  was  him  you  saw?" 
Gerald  accepted  the  explanation  unsuspectingly.     After  all 

t  was  extremely  improbable  that  Lucy,  who  seemed  always  so 

truthful  and  modest,  should  volunteer  a  falsehood.     He  must 

have  been  mistaken  in  thinking  the    man  like  Mordaunt 

oapley. 


1HE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGffA.  ft 

{t  I  suppose  this  is  good  fishing  weather?"  he  remarked. 

She  assented,  and  they  talked  about  fishing  as  they  walked 
tip  the  path  side  by  side.  Presently  he  said: 

"  I  hope  the  lamp  is  full  of  oil,  Miss  Lucy?  I  have  a  lot  of 
work  to  do  to-night.  Perhaps  you  know  that  I  may  be 
employed  at  the  Court,  rebuilding  the  old  wing?" 

"  I  heard  you  were  there,  looking  at  it,  sir,"  she  answered. 
"  I  am  very  glad!  It  is  a  beautiful  old  place,  the  Court,  and 
Miss  Claire  is  a  kind  young  lady." 

"  You  like  her?"  said  Gerald. 

"Oh,  yes,  sir!  She  has  always  been  good  and  kind  to  me! 
Everybody  likes  her,  though  sometimes  she  seems — seems 
proud  and  stand-offish;  but  she  is  never  so  with  me — leastways, 
very  seldom."  She  stifled  a  sigh  at  the  correction.  "I've 
known  her  ever  since  she  came  here;  we  were  girls  together 
like — though  different,  of  course.  I  think  she  is  the  loveliest 
young  lady  I  have  ever  seen,"  she  added,  warmly. 

Gerald  felt  as  if  he  should  like  to  shake  hands  with  Miss 
Lucy  on  the  spot;  but  he  wisely  made  no  response. 

"  This  is  a  lonely  path,"  he  remarked,  after  a  pause. 
"  But  I  suppose  you  don't  mind  being  out  alone?" 

"  No;  I'm  used  to  it,  sir,"  she  said,  simply.  "  Very  few 
people  come  along  here;  only  the^coastguard  and  a  fisherman 
now  and  again." 

"  And  here  comes  one  of  them,"  said  Gerald,  as  a  man 
came  slowly  down  upon  them. 

The  path  was  narrow,  and  he  drew  aside  to  allow  the  man 
to  pass,  and,  as  he  did  so,  he  peered  at  them  curiously,  and 
then  touched  his  sou-wester,  and  gave  them  "  good-night." 

"  It's  Jenks,  the  coastguard,"  said  Lucy,  when  the  man 
had  passed  on. 

But  after  he  had  gone  a  few  paces,  he  stopped,  and  came 
back  to  them. 

"  Beggin*  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  civilly,  with  another 
touch  of  his  cap,  "but  could  you  oblige  me  with  a  pipe  o* 
bacca?  I've  run  out,  and — " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Gerald;  and  he  opened  his  pouch,  and 
emptied  the  contents  into  the  man's  horny  hand. 

rt  Oh!  I  won't  take  all,  sir,"  he  said. 

"  I've  half  a  pound  at  home,"  said  Gerald;  "  you're  wil- 
come  to  this." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.     Mr.  Wayre,  bean't  it?" 

"Eight  the  first  time,"  assented  Gerald,  pleasantly. 
"Good-night." 

"  He  is  always  asking  for  tobacco,"  said  Lucy,  with  a  amila. 


72  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

"  I  can  sympathize  with  him,"  said  Gerald.  "  It  must  bfl 
lonely  work  pacing  the  cliffs  all  night;  and  a  pipe's  company. 
Well,  here  we  are!  Good-night,  Miss  Lucy." 

She  had  stopped  a  few  yards  from  the  cottage,  and  looked 
at  it  hesitatingly,  and  she  responded  to  his  good-night  in  a 
low  voice,  and  melted  away  from  his  side  like  a  shadow. 

"  So  Miss  Lucy's  sweetheart  is  a  fisherman?"  he  said  to 
himself.  "  Well,  I  wish  her  luck!" 

He  worked  late  into  the  night,  and  the  next  morning,  after 
breakfast,  went  up  to  the  Court.  He  had  brought  some 
necessary  tools  and  materials  with  him,  and  thinking  that  it 
would  be  as  well  to  take  them  to  the  room  Miss  Sartoris  had 
BO  kindly  lent  him,  he  unlocked  the  door  and  went  upstairs. 

To  his  surprise,  a  maid  was  hard  at  work,  dusting  and 
cleaning  up  generally. 

"  You  need  not  go,"  he  said,  as  with  a  courtesy  she  made 
as  if  to  retreat  I  only  want  to  put  these  things  on  the 
bureau. " 

"  Yes,  sir.  You  can  put  them  inside,  if  you  like,"  she 
said,  respectfully.  "  The  drawers  are  cleared  out.  Mr. 
Sapley  was  here  quite  early  this  morning,  and  did  it." 

"  That  was  very  kind  of  him,"  said  Gerald.  "  I  shall  be 
glad  of  the  drawers." 

"  Shall  I  leave  the  picture  here,  sir?  It  looks  rather  untidy- 
like." 

She  looked  at  the  portrait  standing  against  the  wall  where 
Gerald  had  placed  it. 

"  Yes,  please,"  he  said;  and  he  took  it  up  and  looked  at  it 
for  a  moment  or  two. 

The  sweet  face  seemed  to  have  something  pathetic  in  it 
which  he  had  not  noticed  on  the  previous  day,  and  he  sighed 
as  he  placed  it  against  the  bureau,  intending  to  take  it  home 
and  clean  it  that  evening. 

"  The  room  looks  quite  bright  and  cheerful,"  he  said.  "  I 
see  you  have  put  up  some  fresh  curtains  to  the  window, 
Susan." 

"  Yes,  sir;  Miss  Sartoris  said  I  was  to,  and  to  light  a  fire  if 
you  thought  it  at  all  damp.  My  name's  Emily,  if  you  please, 
sir." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Gerald.  "  Emily's  a  prettier 
name  than  Susan.  It  was  very  kind  of  Miss  Sartoris.  Never 
mind  the  fire;  the  sun  is  coming  in  through  the  window,  and 
will  dry  the  room  famously. " 

He  went  outside,  and  fell  to  work;  but,  engrossing  as  his 
work  was,  he  reflected  everv  now  and  then  on  Miss  Sartoris'u 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  KEGKTA.  73 

thoughtfulness  and  kindness.  It  also  struck  him  that  Mr. 
Sapley  had  been  very  prompt  in  clearing  out  the  bureau. 
"  But  he  is  within  his  right  to  distrust  a  man  who  can't  give 
references/'  he  thought. 

During  the  morning  he  caught  himself  wondering  whether 
Miss  Sartoris  or  Mrs.  Lexton  would  visit  that  part  of  the 
grounds;  but  the  morning  passed,  and  they  did  not  appear. 
He  had  brought  some  sandwiches  with  him,  so  that  he  might 
have  a  good  reason  for  refusing  an  invitation  to  lunch— he 
would  guard  against  intruding  himself  upon  Miss  Sartoris — 
and  was  munching  one  as  he  walked  up  and  down  with  his 
measuring-rod  in  his  hand,  when  he  heard  the  roll  of  a  car- 
riage, and  saw  a  landau  and  a  splendid  pair  of  horses  driving 
down  the  road  toward  the  house.  The  two  ladies  were  inside, 
and  he  raised  his  hat,  but  turned  away  immediately. 

"  There  is  Mr.  Wayre,"  said  Mrs.  Lexton.  "  How  busy  he 
looks!  Shall  we  go  and  see  how  he  is  getting  on,  Claire?" 

"  Perhaps  we  should  interrupt  him,"  said  Claire. 

"  Perhaps  so;  but  I  don't  think  he  would  mind,"  said  Mrs. 
Lexton. 

Claire  did  not  respond,  and  they  went  into  the  house.  It 
seemed,  however,  that  she  had  not  forgotten  his  presence,  for 
when  the  tea  came  hi  she  told  the  footman  to  take  some  out 
to  Mr.  Wayre. 

Gerald  saw  him  coming  across  the  lawn  with  a  daintily  laid 
silver  salver,  with  a  slight  feeling  of  disappointment.  Per- 
haps Miss  Sartoris  would  come  out  later  on? 

But  the  afternoon  passed  without  a  visit  from  her,  and  he 
finished  for  the  day  and  went  home,  feeling  as  if  something 
were  wanting  to  complete  his  satisfaction. 

The  next  morning,  while  he  was  at  work  outside,  Mr.  Sap- 
ley  came  up.  Gerald  had  expected  to  find  him  anything  but 
amiable,  but,  to  his  surprise,  Mr.  Sapley  was  quite  civil,  and 
appeared,  indeed,  bent  upon  making  himself  agreeable. 

I  see  you  are  getting  on,  Mr.  Wayre,"  he  remarked, 
glancing  under  his  brows  at  the  sketches  and  plans  lying  on 
the  grass.     "  I  hope  you  find  it  interesting.     Have  you  got 
everything  you  want?" 
,.    Gerald  replied  in  the  affirmative,  and  thanked  him. 

"  You  must  let  me  know  if  you  haven't,"  said  Mr.  Sapley. 
"  Perhaps  you  would  like  an  extra  table,  or  something,  put 
up  in  the  room  you're  using?" 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Gerald;  "  I  have  all  I  want  hi  the 
table  already  there." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Sapley.     *  Bv  the  way,  I  cleared  out 


74  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT 

that  old  bureau  for— it  might  be  useful.  There  were  only 
some  old  papers  there,  nothing  of  consequence,  but  I  thought 
you  might  like  the  drawers  empty." 

Gerald  said  they  would  be  very  useful,  and,  as  a  return  for 
Mr.  Sapley's  civility,  showed  him  the  rough  sketch  of  the  plans. 

Mr.  Sapley's  eyebrows  went  up,  and  his  loose  lips  drew  ; 
together. 

?<  Pretty  elaborate,"  he  said.  *  There  will  be  a  rare  lot  of 
work  here,  and  it  will  cost  something!" 

"  It  is  rather  elaborate,"  Gerald  admitted.  "  But — well, 
I  didn't  think  the  cost  was  of  much  consequence,"  he  added, 
frankly. 

Mr.  Sapley  shot  a  glance  at  him. 

"  No,  no,  he  said,  rather  hastily,  "  just  so.  1  don't  know 
that  it  matters — "  He  paused  and  rubbed  his  chin.  "  It's 
a  matter  for  Miss  Sartorfs,  of  course.  Fine  day,  Mr.  Wayre," 
and  with  a  contortion  of  his  face  which  was  intended  for  a 
smile  he  went  off. 

Miss  Sartoris  did  not  come  near  the  old  wing  that  day.  But 
Gerald  saw  her  walking  on  the  terrace,  and  he  paused  once  or 
twice  in  his  work  to  glance  at  the  graceful  figure  with  a 
curious  wistfalness.  Had  he  offended  her?  Perhaps  she 
resented  the  foolish  speech  he  had  made  just  before  leaving 
them?  He  walked  home  that  evening  rather  thoughtfully; 
but  flung  his  moodiness  from  him  as  he  sat  down  to  his  plans. 
He  finished  them  that  night,  and  as  he  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  said  that  they  were,  at  any  rate,  "  not  bad."  The  next 
day  he  packed  them  carefully  and  sent  them  to  Miss  Sartoris, 
and  immediately  fell  a  prey  to  the  demon  Suspense. 

Claire  was  at  home  when  they  arrived,  and  she  carried  the 
parcel  to  her  own  room  to  open  it  The  plans  were  well- 
drawn,  and  Gerald  had  spent  a  great  deal  of  pains  in  finishing 
that  of  the  front  of  the  wing.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  remarkably 
pretty  bit  of  water-color;  and  Claire  gazed  at  it  admiringly. 

How  clever  he  is!"  she  caught  herself  murmuring.  There 
was  no  question  about  her  liking  the  plan;  it  seemed  to  her 
just  perfect  Mr.  Sapley  was  in  the  library,  and  she  went 
straight  down-stairs  to  him.  He  rose  and  glanced  at  the  roll 
in  her  hands. 

"  These  are  Mr.  Wayre's  plans,"  she  said.  "  Will  you  look 
at  them,  please?" 

He  laid  them  out  on  the  table  and  studied  them  for  some 
time  in  silence,  and,  to  her  surprise,  he  said,  at  last: 

"  Very  good;  very  good  indeed J" 


1HE  MISTKESS  OF  COUET  REG3STA.  ?fi 

"  I  am  glad  you  approve  of  them,  for  I  like  them  very 
much,"  said  Claire. 

"  Yes,  they  are  very  good,"  he  said;  "  I  don't  know  that 
you  oould  have  anything  better." 

"  I  am  quite  satisfied  with  them,"  said  Claire. 

"  Then  I  suppose  the  work  had  better  be  got  on  with,  Misg 
Sartor  is?"  he  said.  Claire  assented.  "  Yes,"  he  said, 
musingly;  then  he  stole  a  glance  at  her.  "  It  will  cost  a 
large  sum  of  money,"  he  remarked  in  almost  the  same  tone 
he  had  used  when  speaking  to  Gerald. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Claire;  "  but  it  is  better  to  have 
the  thing  well  done,  is  it  not?" 

"  Quite  so — quite  so,"  he  assented.  "  I  will  advertise  for 
tenders  at  once." 

"  Can  not  some  one  on  the  estate  do  it?"  asked  Claire. 
"  I  would  rather  employ  one  of  our  own  people." 

He  bowed. 

"Very  good.  Whoever  undertakes  it  must  satisfy  Mr. 
Wayre  of  his  capacity  to  carry  out  the  work,"  he  said. 

Claire  was  surprised  again. 

"Thank  you;  I  had  forgotten  that.  Mr.  Wayre  will  be 
glad  that  you  approve  of  the  plans,"  she  added. 

He  lowered  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  if  they  satisfy  you,  Miss  Sartoris,"  he  said.  He  took 
up  a  slip  of  paper  which  accompanied  the  drawings.  "  I  see 
Mr.  Wayre  has  given  us  an  idea  of  the  cost.  I  mentioned  it 
to  him  yesterday."  He  raised  his  brows  as  he  handed  the 
paper  to  her.  "  It  is  a  large  sum!" 

Claire  looked  at  the  paper.  There  was  only  a  line  or  two, 
and  her  attention  was  bestowed  upon  the  firm,  clear  hand- 
writing rather  than  on  the  amount  suggested. 

"  Yes/'  she  said,  absently.  The  writing  seemed  to  her 
characteristic  of  Mr.  Wayre. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Sapley,  rubbing  his  chin.  "  I  don't 
know  that  we  can  meet  it  out  of  the  current  account.  We 
shall  have  to  sell  some  stock." 

He  spoke  in  as  easy,  matter-of-fact  way,  and  arranged  the 
papers  before  him  in  a  preoccupied  manner. 

"  Yes/'  said  Claire  again,  assentingly.  Her  ignorance  of 
business  or  her  resources  was  complete,  and  she  did  not  under- 
stand his  proposal  in  the  least. 

"  If  a  small  local  man  does  the  work,  he  will  want  some 
money  to  start  with,"  he  went  on.  "  If  you  wish  it  com- 
menced at  once,  perhaps  you  had  better  have  the  money 
ready." 


7(J  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

"  It  would  be  better,  no  doubt,"  said  Claire.  "  Do  not  let 
anything  create  a  delay." 

"Just  so,"  he  said.  She  had  moved  to  the  window  with 
the  drawing  of  the  front  elevation  in  her  hand,  and  did  not 
see  the  look  he  cast  at  her,  a  glance  of  surprise  combined  with 
satisfaction.  He  seated  himself  at  the  table,  and  watching 
her,  drew  from  his  capacious  pocket-book  a  paper,  and  rapidly 
filled  in  some  blank  spaces  in  the  writing  upon  it. 

"  Will  you  sign  this,  if  you  please,  Miss  Sartoris?"  he 
said,  when  he  had  finished. 

Claire  bent  down  at  the  table,  and  scarcely  glancing  at  the 
paper,  appended  her  signature. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said.  He  did  not  take  the  paper  up  im- 
mediately, but  left  it  lying  on  the  table;  but  a  moment  or  two 
afterward  he  dropped  one  of  the  plans  on  the  top  of  it,  com- 
pletely covering  it. 

"  Shall  I  write  and  inform  Mr.  Wayre  his  plans  are 
accepted,"  he  asked,  "  or  will  you?" 

"If  you  will  be  kind  enough,"  said  Claire,  with  her  hand 
on  the  door  and  her  face  turned  from  him. 

Mr.  Sapley  waited  until  the  door  had  closed  on  her,  then  he 
caught  up  the  hidden  paper  which  she  had  just  signed,  and 
with  a  grim  smile  of  satisfaction,  blotted  the  signature  and 
carefully  replaced  the  document  in  his  pocket-book  as  if  it  had 
suddenly  become  exceeoingly  precious. 

As  he  was  returning  the  book  to  his  pocket  the  door  opened. 
Mr.  Sapley  started,  and  his  hand  gripped  the  lapel  of  his 
coat  and  drew  it  across  his  chest  as  if  he  were  afraid  that  Miss 
Sartoris  was  returning  to  demand  the  paper  from  him.  But 
it  was  Mordaunt  who  entered,  and  Mr.  Sapley  let  his  hand  fall 
on  the  table  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

Mordaunt  glanced  at  the  litter  of  plans,  and  scowled. 

"  I  suppose  that  d d  fellow  has  got  his  way  with  those 

things?"  he  said.     Mr.  Sapley  nodded. 

"Take  care,  Mordy!"  he  said,  warningly.  "  Miss  Sartoris 
has  only  just  left  the  room." 

"  I  know,"  said  Mordaunt,  sullenly.  "  I  saw  her  through 
the  window  as  I  passed.  What  was  she  signing  just  now?" 

Mr.  Sapley  looked  up— he  had  seated  himself  at  the  table 
again — with  a  sharp  glance  of  inquiry. 

"  Signing?"  he  replied.  "  Oh,  yes,  yes.  A  lease,  only  a 
lease. 'r 


THE  MISTKESS  OP  COUET  BEGtfA.  57 


CHAPTER  X. 

EVIRYTHING  went  smoothly  and  almost  rapidly  as  au 
express  as  with  the  building;  for  the  moment  Gerald  was 
informed  that  Miss  Sartoris  desired  to  avoid  delay,  he  set  to 
work  "  to  clear  the  line,"  as  he  expressed  it,  and  made  the 
slow  and  sleepy  folk  of  Regna  and  the  neighboring  town  of 
Thraxton  "  sit  up  "  with  a  vengeance. 

He  chose  a  young  man,  just  starting  as  a  builder,  for  the 
work,  and  at  the  set-off,  informed  him  that  he,  Gerald,  meant 
to  keep  a  sharp  eye  on  the  affair.  The  young  fellow — Lee, 
by  name — saw  that  he  had  to  do  with  a  master-mind  he  could 
rely  upon,  and  assented  cheerfully. 

So  it  happened  that  one  morning,  Claire,  walking  to  the  end 
of  the  terrace,  heard  the  sound  of  a  pick  and  saw  the  dust 
arise.  She  walked  round  to  see  the  cause,  and  there  were  a 
couple  of  men  picking  away  at  the  old  masonry,  and  Gerald 
down  below  with  his  dark  eyes  fixed  upon  them  watchfully. 
He  was  so  intent  that  he  did  not  hear  her  approach. 

"  Why,  you  have  begun?"  she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  turning  to  her  with  a  certain  eagerness 
which  he  immediately  suppressed.  "  You  wanted  it  down  at 
once,  did  you  not,  Miss  Sartoris?" 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes,"  she  said,  looking  at  the  men  perched  on 
the  roof.  "  But  I  didn't  think  you  would  commence  so  soon!" 

He  laughed  the  short  laugh  which  she  had  learned  to  know 
so  well.  "  At  once,  means  '  at  once/  with  me,"  he  said. 
"  I'm  afraid  it  doesn't  mean  quite  the  same  to  the  good  people 
down  here;  they  should  have  spent  a  few  years  with  me  over 
there;"  he  jerked  his  head  back  in  the  direction  of  America. 
"  I'm  afraid  they  will  make  rather  a  mess,"  he  went  on,  "  but 
I  have  arranged  to  pull  down  a  bit  at  a  time,  and  it  will  be 
carted  away  as  it  falls,  so  as  to  make  as  little  confusion  as  pos- 
sible. What's  the  matter,  my  man?"  he  broke  off  to  inquire 
of  one  of  the  men  who  had  paused  and  looked  hesitatingly  at 
the  stone- work  he  was  picking  at.  "  I'm  taking  Mr.  Lee's 
place  while  he  is  at  breakfast,"  he  explained. 

The  man  made  some  reply,  and  Gerald,  with  an  "  Excuse 
me,"  to  Claire,  went  up  the  ladder,  and  after  a  short  confer- 
ence, took  the  man's  pick  and  successfully  dislodged  the  stone, 
which  fell  with  a  dull  thud  to  the  ground.  Claire  watched 
him  with  some  little  anxiety.  It  seemed  to  her  that  he  was  in 
something  very  like  danger,  as  he  stood  on  the  ledge  of  the 


78  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT 

coping  which  was  being  "  wrecked,"  and  when  he  came  down, 
she  could  not  help  saying: 

"  Isn't  it  rather  dangerous?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Gerald,  confidently.  "  Not  if  you  are  at 
all  careful." 

"  Then  I  hope  you — they — will  be  careful,"  she  said,  cor- 
recting the  "  you  "  with  "  they  "  quickly. 

"  Oh,  they  are  all  right,"  he  said,  easOy.  "  They  are  all 
picked  men;  I  have  taken  care  of  that;  and  Mr.  Lee,  the 
contractor,  is  a  sensible  young  fellow,  who  will  run  no  risks. 
He  will  be  here  nearly  all  the  time,  and  when  he  isn't,  I  shall 
take  his  place.  I  think  you  had  better  stand  back  a  little, 
Miss  Sartoris,  a  stone  might  rebound  and  reach  you." 

Claire  drew  back  obediently,  and  presently  went  into  break- 
fast. When  she  came  out  on  the  terrace  again,  he  was  still 
there,  and,  as  he  did  not  leave  until  dinner-time,  it  was 
evident  that  he  had  neglected  his  own  breakfast. 

During  the  afternoon  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley  came  on  the 
scene.  He  had  received  a  hint  from  his  father,  and  greeted 
Gerald  as  amiably  as  he  could;  and  Gerald,  who  was  the  last 
man  in  the  world  to  bear  malice,  responded  pleasantly. 

"  My  father  has  gone  up  to  London,  Mr.  Way  re,"  said 
Mordaunt,  as  he  turned  to  go  away.  "  If  there  is  anything 
you  want  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  it  for  you."  He  made  the 
offer  with  downcast  eyes;  but  Gerald  disregarded  his  manner 
and  thanked  him  cordially  enough.  Mordaunt  went  up  to 
the  Court  and  asked  to  see  Claire. 

;<  My  father  asked  me  to  tell  you  that  he  was  wired  for  to 
London,  Miss  Sartoris,"  he  said.  "  There  are  one  or  two 
papers  he  would  be  glad  if  you  would  look  at."  He  spoke 
almost  humbly,  and  his  manner  was  so  marked  an  improve- 
ment on  his  ordinary  one  that  Claire  was  agreeably  surprised. 
"  About  the  Grimleys,  Miss  Sartoris,"  he  said;  "  my  father 
thinks  they  ought  to  go,  but  I  ventured  to  plead  for  them, 
and  he  says  they  may  stay— of  course,  I  told  him  you  wished 
it" 

Claire  was  gratified,  and  showed  her  pleasure  by  a  smile — 
perhaps  the  first  she  had  bestowed  upon  Mr.  Mordaunt. 

'  Thank  you,"  she  said.  "  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  that. 
It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  plead  for  them."  Mr.  Mordaunt 
was  very  nearly  guilty  of  one  of  his  Oxford  smiles,  and  so 
destroying  the  good  impression  he  had  made,  but  he  checked 
himself  in  time.  "  Is  there  any  tiling  I  can  do  for  you  this 
morning,  Miss  Sartoris?"  he  asked,  with  his  new  air  of  defer- 
ence. Claire  discussed  one  or  two  matters  relating  to  the 


THE  MISTBESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  79 

estate  with  him,  and  he  took  his  departure  remarkably  well 
pleased  with  himself. 

"The  guv'nor's  right!"  he  said.  "He's  a  knowing  old 
fox!  Yes,  I  must  bend  the  knee  and  play  the  '  humble 
retainer '  business,  if  I  want  to  get  on  with  her.  I  wonder 
what  the  guv'nor  has  got  up  his  sleeve,  and  whether  there  is 
anything  in  this  idea  of  his.''  It  doesn't  sound  probable,  but 
I'll  give  it  a  trial.  The  husband  of  the  mistress  of  Court 
Eegna!  It  sounds  too  good  to  be  true;  like  a  fairy-tale. 
Yes,  she's  beautiful — though  I  prefer  something  in  Lucy's 
style;  something  soft  and  gentle.  Poor  little  Lucy!"  He 
smiled  condescendingly  and  stroked  his  slight  mustache.  He 
was  up  at  the  Court  again  the  next  day,  and  behaved  himself 
so  well  that,  it  being  just  lunch-time,  Claire  asked  him  to 
remain  for  the  meal.  He  accepted,  and  kept  so  careful  a 
guard  upon  himself  that  Mrs.  Lexton,  to  whom  he  had  been 
especially  polite,  was  quite  impressed  in  his  favor. 

"  The  son  is  a  great  improvement  on  the  father,  Claire," 
she  remarked.  "  Mr.  Mordaunt  is — is — almost  a  gentleman." 

"  Yes,  almost!"  assented  Claire,  absently.  It  was  a  pity 
Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley  could  not  hear  her! 

She  ran  upstairs  as  she  spoke,  and  presently  came  down 
again  with  her  hat  on,  and  went  round  to  the  wing.  She  had 
got  into  the  habit  of  going  round  there,  or  watching  from  the 
end  of  the  terrace,  and  often  Gerald  was  unaware  that  she  was 
looking  on,  and  that  she  was  more  frequently  looking  at  him 
than  at  the  work.  Sometimes  he  took  off  his  coat  and  lent  a 
hand  at  the  more  dangerous  portions  of  the  demolition,  and 
once  or  twice  Claire  had  discovered  that  she  was  holding  her 
breath  as  she  watched  him  standing  on  the  edge  of  one  of  the 
broken  walls,  with  the  stones  falling  from  quite  under  his  feet. 
He  was  sitting  on  a  heap  of  debris,  smoking  his  pipe,  when 
she  came  up  that  afternoon,  and  he  rose  with  a  capital  affec- 
tation of  indifferent  but  respectful  politeness.  He  had 
learned  to  set  a  guard  upon  himself — like  Mr.  Mordaunt. 

"  How  fast  you  are  getting  on!"  said  Claire. 

"  Yes;  thanks  to  Mr.  Lee,"  said  Gerald,  indicating  the 
young  builder,  who  touched  his  cap,  and  looked  pleased  as 
he  moved'  away. 

"  A  capital  fellow!"  said  Gerald.  "  It  was  a  rare  piece  of 
luck  getting  hold  of  him.  But,  then,  I  am  lucky." 

"  Are  you?"  asked  Claire,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "When  things  are  at  their  worst,  I 
always  drop  on  my  feet,  Miss  Sartoris. "  He  smiled,  and,  not 
for  the  first  time,  Claire  noticed  that  he  not  only  snjiled  with 


80  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COUKT  KEGNA. 

his  lips,  but  with  his  eyes,  and  that  they  were  very  handsome 
and  expressive  at  such  times. 

"  I  think  we  are  rather  astonishing  the  natives,"  he  sai<*, 
looking  at  the  broken  wing.  "  It  takes  their  breath  away. 
We  shall  begin  rebuilding  at  the  end  of  next  week.  1  wanJ  it 
all,  or  nearly  all,  covered  in  before  the  winter  is  upon  us.'' 

Lee  came  back  and  spoke  to  him,  and  they  went  amongst 
the  ruins.  Claire  stood  looking  up  at  the  men  at  their  work 
of  demolition,  and  lost  sight  of  Gerald  for  a  moment  or  two, 
then  she  saw  him  standing  near  the  old  wall.  He  had  his 
back  to  it,  and  to  her,  and  was  giving  some  instructions  to 
Lee,  who  had  mounted  to  the  roof.  Claire  was  thinking,  half 
unconsciously,  how  completely  Gerald  was  master  of  ihe 
situation;  that  his  very  attitude,  and  the  quiet  ring  of  his 
musical  voice,  were  eloquent  of  self-reliance,  and  ehe  felt  a 
slight  thrill  of  admiration,  the  tribute  which  every  woman 
pays  to  the  strong  man  who  is  lord  of  himself  and  others. 

Then,  suddenly,  the  pleasant  little  glow  was  dispelled,  for 
ehe  saw,  or  fancied  that  she  saw,  the  wall  near  which  he 
stood,  tremble  and  shake.  Her  heart  leaped,  and  then  seemed 
to  cease  beating  for  a  moment.  If  the  wall  were  to  fall  while 
he  was  standing  there,  it  would  come  down  upon  him  and  kill 
him.  She  tried  to  call  to  him,  but,  to  her  horror,  her  tongue 
seemed  to  refuse  to  answer  to  her  will.  The  terrible  dumb- 
ness lasted  only  for  a  moment,  but  when  she  did  call,  her 
voice  was  drowned  by  the  noise  of  the  picks  and  the  falling 
stones,  and  did  not  reach  him. 

She  saw  the  wall  again  quiver  like  a  huge  living  thing — 
there  was  no  fancy  about  it  this  time.  And  Gerald,  still  look- 
ing up  at  Lee,  with  a  smile,  and  all  unconscious  of  the  doom 
that  threatened  him.  She  felt  as  if  she  could  not  move,  as  if 
she  were  rooted  to  the  spot  for  a  second  that  appeared  an  age 
to  her;  then  she  sprung  forward,  and  had  almost  grasped  his 
irm,  when  Gerald— as  if  he  had  been  watching  the  wall  all 
the  time — quietly  stepped  back.  As  he  did  so,  the  mass  fell 
with  a  terrific  noise.  He  smiled,  and  nodded  approvingly, 
then  heard  a  kind  of  gasp  behind  him,  and,  turning  sharplv, 
found  Claire  at  his  elbow.  One  of  the  stones  had  rebounded, 
and  fallen  close  at  her  feet,  and,  for  the  moment,  he  thought 
she  had  been  struck. 

His  fear  for  her  turned  him  sick  and  white,  and  he  caught 
her  arm  and  drew  her  back.  As  is  the  way  with  Gerald's 
kind  of  man,  his  emotion  made  him  stern,  and  it  was  in  a 
tone  that  sounded  like  passionate  anger  that  he  demanded: 

''  Why  did  you  come  so  close?    How  could  you  be  so  im- 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  81 

prudent?    My  God!  the  wall  might  have  fallen  upon  you! 
Come  back!" 

Claire's  face  was  deathly  white,  and  the  terror  still  lingered 
iu  her  eyes  as  she  raised  them  to  his.  But  even  when  the 
color  had  come  back  she  did  not  show  any  resentment  of  his 
manner  and  speech.  And  she  did  not  say:  "  I  came  to  save 
you!  " 

Her  eyes  fell,  and  she  stood  quite  silent.  Gerald  drew  a 
long  breath — his  hand  was  still  on  her  arm,  and  none  too 
gently — and  he  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  brow. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Sartoris,"  he  said.  "  I  am 
afraid  I  was  rough  and  unmannerly;  but  you  gave  me  a  nasty 
fright.  Let  me  beg  of  you  never  to  come  so  near  again — 
never  to  pass  that  mark!"  He  dug  his  heel  into  the  lawn. 
"I  must  ask  you  to  promise  me,  please!"  he  added,  with  a 
touch  of  his  former  sternness. 

Claire  tried  to  smile,  but  the  smile  would  not  come.  She 
felt  his  hand  begin  to  tremble  on  her  arm;  and,  perhaps,  he 
was  conscious  that  it  was  so  trembling,  for  he  withdrew  it.' 
But  he  still  waited  with  tightly  compressed  lips,  and  a  rather 
pale  face,  for  her  promise. 

"  I — promise,"  she  said.  And  she  said  it  almost  meekly. 
She,  Claire  Sartoris,  mistress  of  Court  Eegna!  "  It  was  fool- 
ish; I  thought — "  She  stopped,  and  bit  her  lip. 

"  You  thought  it  wasn't  coming  down  just  yet?"  he  said. 
"  Oh,  but  it  is  never  sate  to  trust  a  wall  in  that  condition." 

"  It  doesn't  matter  what  I  thought,"  she  said,  with  a  faint 
smile.  "  I  will  not  go  so  near  again." 

She  turned  from  him  as  she  spoke,  and  went — slowly — back 
to  the  house;  but  she  passed  quickly  to  her  own  room,  and 
locking  the  door,  "let  herself  go."  The  restraint  she  had 
put  upon  herself  broke  down,  and  with  her  hands  covering 
her  face,  she  swayed  to  and  fro  like  a  stately  pine  buffeted  by 
the  wind.  She  could  still  see  him  standing  by  the  threatening 
wall;  and  she  could  still  hear  his  stern  voice,  feel  the  hard 
grip  of  his  hand.  The  shadow  of  the  terror  she  had  endured 
mingled  with  a  vague  mystical  pleasure  and  delight  that 
bewildered  and  frightened  her  by  its  strangeness. 

He  had  been  angry  with  her — and  "  bullied  "  her;  but  she 
knew  that  his  anger  had  proved  his  regard  for  her  safety,  his 
consternation  at  her  danger,  and  she  felt  no  resentment. 

After  awhile  the  reaction  passed,  and  she  sunk  into  a  chair 
in  a  kind  of  stupor,  in  which  she  kept  asking  herself  whether 
she  would  have  sprung  toward  the  wall,  as  she  had  done,  to 
save,  say — one  of  the  workmen? 


82  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  BIMW1. 

Gerald  also  suffered  from  a  reaction,  and  when  she  had  dis. 
appeared,  he  stood  looking  at  the  building,  as  if  he  had  lost 
all  interest  in  it — as  if,  indeed,  he  rather  hated  it;  and  after  a 
time  he  walked  off.  He  was  scarcely  conscious  that  he  bad 
spoken,  grasped  her,  so  roughly;  he  could  only  remember  her 
terrible  danger;  and  every  now  and  then,  as  he  strode  along  to 
the  cottage,  he  took  off  his  hat,  and  wiped  the  perspiration 
from  his  brow. 

When  he  had  got  home  he  felt  as  if  he  could  not  remain 
indoors,  as  if  the  small  room  were  not  large  enough  for  his 
quivering  nerves.  And  presently  he  went  down  to  the  beach. 
A  boat  belonging  to  Captain  Hawker  was  dancing  on  the 
•water  near  the  shore,  and,  signing  up  to  the  captain,  who  was 
in  his  accustomed  seat  outside  the  cottage,  for  permission,  he 
pulled  her  in  by  her  chain  and  went  on  board.  A  sail  would 
do  him  good,  blow  all  the  "  nonsense  "  out  of  his  brain,  and 
drive  the  remembrance  of  her  peril  out  of  his  mind. 

He  was  setting  the  sail  when  he  heard  a  step  on  the  beach 
behind  him,  and,  looking  round,  saw  Claire.  He  raised  his 
hat,  paused  a  moment  with  the  sail  in  his  hand,  then  stepped 
ashore. 

"  I  want  to  apologize  for  my — "  he  began;  but  Claire, 
with  a  swift  rise  of  color,  interrupted  him: 

"  Do  not  speak  of  it,"  she  said.  "  You  were  quite  right. 
It  does  not  matter.  Are  you  going  for  a  sail?" 

''  Yes,"  he  said,  accepting  her  refusal  to  hear  more. 

"  It  is  a  lovely  evening,"  she  said. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  she  looked  at  the  boat  wistfully. 
Was  it  possible  that — ?  On  the  spur  of  the  moment,  almost 
without  thinking,  he  said : 

"  Would  you  care  to  come,  Miss  Sartoris?" 

Claire  looked  beyond  him. 

"  Are  you  going  far?"  she  asked,  quietly;  though  her  con- 
icience  whispered  that  she  was  wrong. 

"  As  far  as  you  like — I  mean,  I  only  intended  running  over 
to  the  island  and  back." 

He  nodded  to  a  small  island  called  the  Eaglet,  which  lay 
like  a  bird  on  the  sea. 

"  I  should  like  to  come,"  said  Claire,  after  a  brief  second 
or  two. 

"One  moment,"  he  said  in  a  matter-of-fact  way. 

He  hoisted  the  sail,  shipped  the  rudder,  and  spread  his  coat 
over  the  seat 

"Now,  if  you  will  go  round  to  the  jetty,  I  will  bring  the 
boat,  w  that  you  can  step  in  without  wetting  your 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  83 

He  handed  her  in,  and  she  sat  in  the  stern,  putting  his  coat 
aside. 

"Better  sit  on  that,  please,"  he  said:  "the  seat  maybe 
wet." 

"  It  is  quite  dry,"  she  said. 
'  You  can  steer?    But,  I  beg  your  pardon,  of  course — " 

Claire  smiled. 

"  Oh,  yes.     There  is  a  nice  breeze." 

He  looked  up  at  the  sail  and  nodded,  as  the  boat  skimmed 
along,  and  then  looked  at  Claire,  asking  himself  if  she  were 
really  there,  or  whether  he  was  dreaming.  How  had  he  sum- 
moned up  the  audacity  to  ask  her? 

Claire  looked  the  picture  of  calm  serenity — it  is  a  way 
women  have  when  they  are  doing  anything  wrong — and  her 
calmness  served  to  restore  his  self-possession. 

"  This  boat  is  like  an  old  friend,"  she  said.  "  I  used  to  go 
out  in  it  with  Captain  Hawker  when  I  was  quite  a  girl." 

"  I  thought  you  managed  her  as  if  you  understood  her,"  he 
remarked.  "  She  is  a  good  boat. " 

"  One  needs  a  good  boat  on  this  coast,"  said  Claire. 

He  looked  round. 

"  It  looks  calm  enough." 

Claire  smiled. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  most  treacherous  places  in  England,"  she 
said.  "  A  storm  gets  up  here  as  quickly  as  the  storm  raised 
by  Prospero's  wand." 

"  Yes?"  he  said.  "  I  have  not  seen  one  since  I  have  been 
here.  You  know  the  Eaglet?"  he  went  on,  for  the  sake  of 
saying  something.  He  was  still  trying  to  grasp  the  fact  that 
she  was  really  sitting  there,  within  a  few  feet  of  him. 

"Oh,  yes!  It  is  a  delightful  little  place,  all  combes  and 
caves,  and  crowded  by  sea-birds.  We  used  to  come  nesting 
here — Captain  Hawker,  his  daughter  Lucy,  and  I — and  I 
remember  how  I  used  to  fancy  that  I  should  like  to  live  there, 
in  Eobinson  Crusoe  fashion,  away  from  everybody." 

She  spoke  absently,  almost  dreamily,  and  he  leaned  for- 
ward, resting  his  chin  on  his  hand,  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  face. 

"  That  sounds  nicer  than  it  is  in  reality,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  tried  it,  and,  like  friend  Kobinson,  I  think  solitude  on  an 
island  is  only  agreeable  when  there  is  some  one  to  share  it 
I  was  shipwrecked  on  one  of  the  Pacific  islands  when  I  was  a 
lad,  and  it  was  the  most  unromantic  and  uncomfortable  time 
I  ever  spent." 

She,  too,  leaned  forward  a  little,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  him 
with  an  interested  expression. 


84  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COUET  BEGtfA. 

"  Were  yon  there  long?" 

"Not  very.     Four  days.*' 

He  began  to  tell  her  about  it,  and  she  was  so  absorbed  that 
she  neglected  her  steering,  and  was  suddenly  recalled  to  it  by 
a  eudden  puff  of  wind  and  the  jibing  of  the  sail. 

"Oh!  I  beg  your  pardon,'*  she  said,  almost  meekly. 
"That  was  my  fault." 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  said,  mendaciously,  and  in  rather  a  pre- 
occupied fashion,  for,  as  he  looked  up,  he  saw  an  ugly  cloud 
coming  up  from  the  west. 

Claire  followed  the  direction  of  his  eyes. 

"  There  is  going  to  be  a  storm,"  she  said,  easily. 

He  bit  his  mustache. 

"  I'm  afraid  there  is,"  he  said.     "  I  hope  it  won't  rain." 

"  It  will  not  matter  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  she  said, 
glancing  at  her  serge  dress. 

He  shook  his  head  gravely. 

A  moment  or  two  afterward  the  rain  he  dreaded  began;  the 
cloud  grew  thicker  and  darkened  the  sky,  and  the  wind  began 
to  rise  in  a  threatening  way. 

He  leaned  forward,  and  taking  up  his  jacket,  put  it  round 
her. 

"  No!"  she  said,  very  quietly.  "  Please  put  it  on!  My 
dress  is  nearly,  if  not  quite,  waterproof." 

He  saw  that  she  wished  it;  and  he  slipped  the  coat  on.  The 
wind  grew  fiercer  and  the  rain  heavier,  and,  calling  himself  a 
careless  idiot  for  not  studying  the  weather  before  asking  her 
to  accompany  him,  he  looked  uncertainly  from  the  island  to 
the  mainland. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  he  said,  at  last. 

"  Go  on,"  she  said,  quietly.  "  It  would  be  rather  risky  to 
turn  now  while  the  storm  lasts." 

He  looked  down.  Was  she  fated  to  run  a  double  risk  in 
one  day  through  his  carelessness?  Claire  leaned  back,  grasp. 
ing  the  tiller  firmly,  and  keeping  the  boat  in  a  straight  line 
for  the  island.  She  was  apparently  quite  regardless  of  the 
rain. 

"  You  are  getting  fearfully  wet!"  he  said.     "  And  to  think 
that  I  might  have  put  my  mackintosh  in  the  boat." 
"  It  is  of  no  consequence,"  she  said,  easily. 

The  wind  had  brought  a  warm  tint  to  her  face.  Her  eyes 
were  glowing. 

"  It  is  like  the  old  days,"  she  said,  presently.  "  It  is  so 
long  since  I  have  been  on  the  sea  in  a  storm." 

"It  might  have  been  kind  enough  to  keep  fine,"  he  said. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  85 

"  Here  is  the  island.  Hadn't  we  better  run  her  into  the  creek, 
and  go  ashore?  There  would  be  some  shelter  in  one  of  these 
caves  there. " 

"  Very  well,"  she  said. 

As  she  ran  the  boat  into  the  little  haven,  the  heavens  seemed 
to  open,  the  thunder  broke  with  a  deafening  roar,  and  a  flash 
of  lightning  rent  the  darkness,  which  was  almost  as  that  of 
night. 

Gerald  jumped  with  the  anchor,  and,  standing  up  to  his 
middle  in  water,  drew  the  boat  ashore. 

"  Now,  quick!"  he  said. 

She  stood  poised  for  a  moment  on  the  gunwale,  like  a  bird 
read  for  flight — the  resemblance  struck  Gerald  even  at  that 
moment — then  he  gave  him  her  hand,  and  almost  lifted  her 
to  the  beach. 

"  Run  to  that  cave!"  he  said. 

He  forced  the  anchor  down  with  his  foot  and  followed  her. 
The  cave  was  but  a  small  opening  in  the  rocks,  and  there  was 
barely  room  for  them  both  to  stand  in  it,  and  Gerald  remained 
outside. 

"  Oh,  come  in!"  she  said,  almost  impatiently,  a  clap  of 
thunder  partly  drowning  her  voice. 

He  went  in,  and  they  stood  side  by  side.  They  were  shel- 
tered from  the  rain,  but  not  from  the  wind,  which  seemed 
blowing  from  all  points  of  the  compass. 

"  It  is  taking  longer  than  I  thought,"  she  said,  venturing 
to  peep  out. 

It  proved  an  incautious  movement,  and  the  wind,  taking 
advantage  of  it,  swept  her  hat  from  her  head. 

"  That  is  gone  forever,"  she  said.  "  No,  please  let  it  go; 
you  could  not  get  it!"  for  Gerald  had  made  a  movement  as  if 
to  pursue  it.  "  There!  it  is  in  the  sea!" 

As  she  spoke  she  put  up  her  hand  to  her  head,  for  the  hat 
had  taken  some  mysterious  pins  and  fastenings  with  it,  and 
her  hair  was  coming  down. 

Her  color  rose,  and  she  laughed.  She  seemed  at  this  mo- 
ment just  a  wild  school-girl,  excited  by  the  wind  and  the 
storm;  quite  a  different  person  to  Miss  Sartoris,  of  Court 
Eegna. 

Gerald  looked  at  her.  The  storm  was  thrilling  through 
him — and  something  other  than  the  storm.  She  stood  so 
close  to  him  that  the  sleeve  of  her  dress  brushed  against  his 
arm;  the  exquisite  face  was  within  a  few  inches  of  his  own. 

As  she  stood  with  one  hand  holding  her  jacket  close,  the 
Other  up  to  her  head,  she  spoke  a  few  words  now  and  again; 


86  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COUfiT 

but  he  was  silent,  and  presently  she  grew  silent  also,  as  if  tht 
storm  and  the  darkness  were  beginning  to  affect  her. 

"  It  is  very  weird,"  she  said,  at  last. 

And  he  fancied  that  there  was  something  constrained  in  her 
voice,  as  if  she  were  growing  nervous. 

"It  will  be  over  directly,"  he  said,  encouragingly.  "  Are 
you  getting  cold?  If  you  would  only  let  me  put  my  coat 
round  you!  It  is  of  no  earthly  use  to  me!" 

*'  No,  no!"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  wish  it  would  not 
lighten  so!  It  makes  the  darkness  immediately  afterward 
so—" 

Her  voice  broke  suddenly,  for  something  had  rushed  from 
just  above  their  heads  into  the  open  air,  with  a  wild,  unearthly 
shriek.  She  uttered  a  sharp  cry,  and  completely  unnerved 
and  unconscious  of  what  she  was  doing,  turned  swiftly  to  him, 
and  putting  her  hands  on  his  shoulders,  hid  her  face  on  his 
breast. 

His  arm  went  round  her,  in  a  movement  as  unconscious  as 
her  own;  he  felt  her  hair,  released  from  her  hand,  sweep  like 
silk  across  his  lips;  and  his  face  grew  white  under  its  tan  as 
he  set  his  teeth  hard.  He  could  feel  her  trembling,  quiver- 
ing with  nervous  terror  as  her  hands  clung  to  him,  and  the 
desire  in  his  heart  to  bend  his  head  and  kiss  her,  to  whisper, 
"  1  love  you!"  was  almost  irresistible.  But  he  set  his  teeth 
still  harder,  his  face  grew  stern,  and  his  voice  sounded  almost 
harsh  as  he  said,  with  labored  breath: 

"  Don't  be  alarmed;  it  is  only  a  sea-gull." 

His  voice  seemed  to  recall  her  scattered  senses.  With  a 
little  shudder  and  a  gasp,  she  looked — not  up  at  him,  but 
over  her  shoulder.  Her  hands  dropped  to  her  side,  and  she 
drew  away  from  him,  gathering  her  hair  together.  Then  she 
looked  at  him — as  if  scarcely  realizing  his  presence — as  if  she 
were  quite  unconscious  that  she  had,  only  a  moment  ago, 
clung  to  him  for  protection. 

"It — startled  me!;'  she  said,  panting.  "Why,  you  look 
scared  too."  She  laughed. 

It  was  evident  that  under  the  stress  of  the  moment  she  was, 
in  very  truth,  unconscious  of  having  flown  to  him. 

*  Yes,"  he  said,  trying  to  speak  lightly,  but  feeling  as  if 
every  word  were  wrung  from  him.  "  It — is— all  right;  see, 
it  is  clearing  now." 

He  put  bis  hand  to  his  lips  uncertainly,  for  it  seemed  to  him 
as  if  her  hair  was  still  upon  them  with  its  unconscious  but 
maddening  carew. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGHA.  87 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  storm  began  to  clear  away  almost  as  rapidly  as  it  had 
gathered.  Gerald  stole  a  glance  at  Claire's  face;  it  was  quite 
free  from  embarrassment,  and  though  without  a  trace  of  color, 
quite  unabashed,  though  her  brows  were  rather  straight.  It 
was  evident  that  she  did  not  know  in  the  very  least  degree 
that  she  had  flung  herself  upon  his  heart,  and  yet  there  was  a 
vague  sense  of  something  having  happened  during  that 
moment  or  two  when  the  heavens  were  rent  by  the  lightning. 
And  Gerald  was  relieved,  indeed  glad,  that  it  should  be  so. 
He  was  aquiver  with  the  sense  of  his  close  contact  with  her, 
and  his  heart,  against  which  hers  had  beat  so  wildly — like  an 
imprisoned  bird  beating  affrightedly  against  its  cage — 
throbbed  turnultuously.  At  that  moment  he  knew  that  he 
loved  her  fully  and  passionately,  so  passionately  that  his  lips 
trembled  still  for  the  caress  of  her  hair,  so  truly  that  he 
almost  resolved  to  go  away  from  Court  Regna  for  a  tune,  until 
he  had  fought  down  his  hopeless  love  and  subdued  it. 

For  it  was  so  hopeless!  Here  was  he,  an  adventurer,  as  he 
had  called  himself,  well-nigh  penniless,  in  love  with  the  mis- 
tress of  Court  Regna!  It  was  worse  than  absurd.  He  called 
his  pride  to  his  aid  as  he  stood  there — his  arm  touching  hers — 
and  bitterly  laughed  himself  to  scorn  for  a  presumptuous  idiot. 

The  sooner  he  got  his  work  done  and  cleared  out  of  Court 
Regna  the  better  for  his  happiness  and  peace  of  mind. 

"  It  seems  to  have  cleared,"  he  said,  at  last,  and  speaking 
in  quite  a  matter-of-fact  tone. 

They  went  down  to  the  boat,  and  as  it  was  rocking  a  great 
deal,  he  got  in,  and  holding  it  fast,  put  out  his  disengaged 
hand  for  her.  "  Rest  your  arm  on  my  shoulder,  Miss  Sar- 
toris,"  he  said.  "  A  false  step  would  be  awkward  for  you." 

Claire  laughed  softly.  "  I  have  had  to  clamber  on  board 
in  worse  seas  than  this,"  she  said,  and,  just  touching  his 
hand,  she  sprung,  lightly  as  a  feather,  into  her  place.  He 
shipped  the  anchor  and  put  the  boat  round,  and  she  was  soon 
skimming  homeward. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  late  for  dinner,"  he  said,  "  and  I 
know  you  must  be  very  wet." 

"  It  doesn't  matter  in  the  least,"  she  replied.  "  I  told 
Mrs.  Lexton  that  I  was  going  for  a  long  walk — I  intended 
going  to  one  of  the  fajois,  but  I  strajed  toward  the  beach 


88  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

instead— and  she  will  think  that  I  have  been  waiting  for  the 
storm — as  I  have  been;  and  we  shall  be  dry  before  we  get 
home.  I  am  afraid  I  have  given  you  a  great  deal  of  trouble." 

"  Not  at  all!"  he  said,  promptly,  and  with  a  politeness 
which  was  grimly  and  absurdly  incongruous  with  the  state  of 
his  feelings.  "  lam  sorry  it  didn't  keep  fine." 

There  was  a  silence  for  some  minutes  as  he  busied  himself 
with  the  sail,  and  Claire  watched  him  dreamily.  The  vague 
sense  that,  in  some  way,  they  had  become  close  friends, 
haunted  her;  and,  combined  with  this,  was  the  consciousness 
that  she  was  strangely  happy  and  content  notwithstanding 
that  she  was  wet  and  late  for  dinner,  and  ought  to  be  anxious 
and  concerned  at  keeping  Mary  Lexton  waiting.  She  would 
have  been  astonished  and  not  a  little  affronted  if  any  one  had 
told  her  that  her  happiness  and  contentment  sprung  from  the 
fact  of  Gerald's  presence,  for  Clair,  unlike  most  girls  of  her 
age,  knew  little  of  love.  She  had  lived  so  lonely  a  life  with 
the  old  lord,  had  met  so  few  men,  and  was  so  ignorant  of  the 
art  of  flirtation  and  the  cultivation  of  sentiment,  that  it  never 
occurred  to  her  that  she  was — to  put  it  mildly — taking  a  very 
deep  interest  in  Mr.  Gerald  Wayre,  and  that  she  found  it 
pleasant  to  look  at  him  and  listen  to  him;  that  she  admired — 
with  a  warm  admiration — his  self-reliance  and  strength  of 
body  and  character.  She  did  not  guess  that  his  lips  had 
kissed  her  hair,  that  he  was  at  that  moment  throbbing  with  a 
strong  man's  passion. 

Gerald  found  it  difficult  to  keep  up  an  exchange  of  com- 
monplaces, and  he  began  to  hum  naif  unconsciously.  Claire 
listened  dreamily  for  a  time,  then  she  said: 

"  What  is  it  that  you  are  singing?" 

He  started  slightly.  "  Was  I  singing?  I  beg  your  pardon, 
I  didn't  know.  Let  me  see,  what  was  it?  Oh,  yes;  an  In- 
dian song." 

"  It  sounded  rather  pretty,"  said  Claire;  "  sing  it  louder; 
do  you  mind?" 

1  Certainly,"  said  Gerald.  "  I'm  afraid  I  can't  translate 
the  words,  and  they  will  sound  awful  gibberish." 

Raising  his  voice  only  just  sufficiently  for  it  to  reach  her, 
he  sung  the.  song.  It  was  a  plaintive  Sioux  chant,  and  the 
Indian  words  were  quaintly  musical.  He  had  a  capital  voice, 
a  clear  and  firm  tenor,  and  Claire  listened  with  delighted  sur- 
prise. There  seemed  nothing  this  young  man  could  not  do! 
A  faint  smile  curved  her  lips,  as  she  leaned  forward  with  her 
chin  resting  on  her  hand,  her  violet  eyes  resting  on  his  faoe, 
turned  sideways  to  hear  as  he  watched  the  sail, 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  89 

"  That  is  beautiful!"  she  said,  as  the  last  notes  died  away. 
"  It  sounds  quite  pathetic.  What  does  it  mean?" 

"  Oh,  it  is  the  song  of  the  hunter,  and  it  is  addressed  to  his 
sweetheart.  I  have  heard  the  young  braves  sing  it  outside  the 
wigwams  just  before  they  were  starting  for  a  big  hunt.  It  is 
a  kind  of  serenade,  and  the  hunter  promises,  if  the  big  horse — 
meaning  the  buffalo — spares  him,  to  return  with  plenty  of 
furs  and  skins  to  lay  at  the  feet  of  his  beloved.  The  meter  of 
the  song  is  that  of  Longfellow's  '  Hiawatha.'  Artemus  Ward 
says,  *  Injins  is  pisen;'  and  so  they  are  generally,  but  there  is 
just  a  little  romance  about  them  now  and  again." 

"  I  should  like  to  have  an  English  translation,"  said  Claire. 

"  I'm  afraid  it  wouldn't  be  much  use  my  trying,"  he  said, 
regretfully.  "  I  haven't  the  literary  instinct,  I'm  sorry  to 
say." 

'  Will  you  sing  something  else?"  she  said,  after  a  pause. 
"  It  is  delightful  on  the  \vater." 

He  was  too  wise  to  sing  a  sentimental  ditty  in  English* 
and  he  chose  a  Canadian  boating-song,  and  sung  it  quietly  as 
before. 

"  You  have  a  good  voice,  Mr.  Wayre,"  said  Claire,  absently. 
"  I  am  sorry  Mrs.  Lextor  is  not  here;  she  is  so  fond  of  music, 
and  would  be  delighted  with  those  two  songs.  Perhaps  you 
will  be  so  kind  as  to  come  up  to  the  Court  some  evening  and 
sing  for  her?" 

"  She  is  sorry  Mrs.  Lexton  is  not  here!"  thought  Gerald, 
miserably.  "  But  of  course  she  is!  Why  shouldn't  she  be? 
I  am  a  fool  not  to  know  that  I  am  nothing  but  '  Mr.  Wayre, 
my  architect/  to  her!"  "  I  shall  be  very  pleased,  Miss  Sar- 
toris,"  he  said,  aloud.  "  Why,  what  is  that?"  he  added. 
They  were  nearing  the  pier,  and  he  saw,  on  the  road  far  above 
it,  a  carriage  standing. 

"  It  looks  like  the  Court  carriage,"  said  Claire,  carelessly. 
"Yes,  it  is." 

"  We  are  nearly  home  now,"  he  said,  with  a  half-uncor> 
scious  sigh. 

"  Yes,"  she  assented.  "  I  have  enjoyed  the  sail  very  much, 
and  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you." 

"  Don't  mention  it,"  he  said,  with  a  ghastly  attempt  at  a 
smile. 

As  she  steered  the  boat  alongside  the  landing,  Mr.  Mordaunt 
Sapley  came  down  the  steps.  It  was  evident  that  he  had  been 
waiting  for  them. 

"  I  saw  that  you  had  been  caught  in  the  storm,  Miss  Sar< 


90  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

toris,"  he  said,  "  and  I  ventured  to  send  up  to  the  Court  fo'f 
the  carriage." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  said  Claire,  pleasantly.  She  felt  happy 
enough  that  evening  to  be  pleasant — even  to  Mr.  Mordaunt. 
"  It  was  very  kind  of  you." 

"  I  knew  you  must  be  wet,  and  I  thought  you  would  like  to 
get  home  quickly.  There  are  some  wraps  in  the  carriage." 

"  Oh,  but  I  am  not  cold,  thank  you,"  said  Claire. 

"  It  is — er — rather  risky  sailing,  this  weather,"  he  said,  as 
he  offered  his  hand  to  help  her  out,  and  he  glanced  with  a 
sullen  resentment  at  Gerald,  who  was  letting  down  the  sail, 
and  had  not  offered  her  his. 

"  But  it  was  quite  fine  when  we  started,"  said  Claire; 
"  and  it  has  been  a  very  pleasant  sail."  And  she  looked  with 
a  smile  at  Gerald;  but  his  face  was  turned  away  from  her, 
and  was  set  impassively.  It  almost  looked  as  if  tie  were  glad 
to  resign  her  to  Mr.  Mordaunt. 

"  At  any  rate,  it  would  have  been  better  if  you  had  had 
some  waterproofs  with  you,"  said  Mordaunt.  "  You  run  the 
risk  of  a  severe  cold,  Miss  Sartoris." 

Claire  laughed  softly. 

"  You  forget  that  I  am  used  to  our  own  Downshire  climate, 
Mr.  Mordaunt,"  she  said.  "  And  we  were  under  shelter 
during  the  storm." 

Still  Gerald  did  not  speak,  and,  with  a  slight  compression  of 
her  lips,  she  said: 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Wayre,  and  thank  you,"  and  turned 
away.  Mr.  Mordaunt  conducted  her  up  to  the  carriage,  and 
would  have  enveloped  her  in  wraps,  but  Claire  smilingly 
refused  them,  and  he  stood  bareheaded  until  the  carriage 
drove  away.  Then  he  went  down  again  to  the  landing,  and, 
after  watching  Gerald  roll  up  the  sail,  said : 

"  I'm  afraid  Miss  Sartoris  is  very  wet." 

Gerald  was  not  in  the  humor  at  that  moment  for  much  of 
Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley,  and  he  answered,  rather  shortly: 

"I'm  afraid  so." 

"  Wouldn't  it  have  been  as  well  if  you — er — had  taken  a 
proper  boatman  and  some  mackintoshes,  Mr.  Wayre?"  said 
Mordannt  in  a  condescending  fashion,  which  nettled  Gerald 
almost  beyond  end  urance. 

"  Should  you  call  me  an  improper  boatman?"  he  said,  with 
a  dangerous  smile.  "  My  good  sir,  I  am  quite  competent  to 
manage  a  boat.  But  you  are  right  about  the  mackintoshes," 
he  said.  "  I  was  an  idiot  to  forget  them." 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  R1GNA.  91 

"  It  would  not  have  mattered  if  you  had  been  alone,'*  con- 
tinued Mr.  Mordaunt.  "  But  Miss  Sartoris  is  a  lady — " 

"  So  I  always  thought,"  said  Gerald,  with  a  cheerfulness 
which  was  even  more  dangerous  and  misleading  than  his 
smile.  "  As  you  are  standing  there  you  may  as  well  catch 
hold  of  that  rope  and  make  it  fast.  Thanks.  Fine  evening 
now,  isn't  it?  By  George!  it's  later  than  I  thought." 

"  Yes,  rather  too  late  for  a  lady  to  be  on  the  water  in  this 
weather,"  said  Mordaunt. 

"  And  I  shall  get  a  scolding  from  Miss  Lucy  for  spoiling 
a  meal,"  continued  Gerald.  At  this  innocent  remark  Mr. 
Mordaunt  paused  on  the  brink  of  another  exasperating  sen- 
tence, and,  with  sudden  accession  of  color  and  a  suspicious 
glance  from  under  his  brows  at  Gerald,  started  up  the  steps. 

Gerald  slept  little  that  night,  and  when  he  fell  into  a  rest- 
less doze,  he  dreamed  that  he  was  standing  in  the  cave  with 
Miss  Sartoris' s  hands  on  his  shoulders,  and  her  heart  beating 
against  his,  and  that  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley — of  all  persons 
in  the  world — was  attempting  to  drag  them  apart,  and  that 
at  last  he  succeeded. 

In  the  morning  he  found  that  his  coat  was  still  wet,  but  he 
did  not  send  it  down  to  be  dried;  instead,  he  hung  it  near  the 
window,  and,  having  done  so,  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at 
it,  and  thinking  that  a  few  hours  since  it  had  been  round  the 
woman  he  must  teach  himself  not  to  love. 

When  he  went  down  to  the  Court,  he  felt  that  he  should 
like  to  send  in  and  ask  if  Miss  Sartoris  had  caught  cold,  but 
he  resisted  the  desire.  All  the  same,  he  found  himself  look- 
ing out  for  her  all  through  the  morning,  and  felt  a  dull  ache 
of  disappointment  because  she  did  not  come.  It  was  a  busy 
morning,  and  Lee  came  to  consult  him  frequently. 

"  We'd  better  begin  pulling  down  the  rest,  Mr.  Wayre,"  he 
said;  "  but  there's  the  furniture  still  in  your  rooms." 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Gerald,  rousing  himself.     "  I'll 

get  it  moved  into  the  adjoining  rooms  directly.     In  fact," 
e  added,  glad  of  something  active  to  do,  "  I'll  move  it  my- 
self/' 

He  went  up  to  the  room — the  others  on  the  ground-floor  had 
been  cleared — and  set  to  work.  Miss  Sartoris  had  given  him 
permission  to  convey  the  furniture  into  the  room  of  the  new 
house  adjoining  the  old,  and  he  began  to  carry  in  the  chairs 
and  smaller  articles  first  When  he  came  to  the  bureau  he 
found  that  it  was  in  two  parts,  and  in  lifting  the  top,  two  or 
three  old  papers  fell  to  the  ground.  They  had  either  dropped 
from  the  drawer,  at  the  end  of  which  they  had  caught,  and  sq 


92  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

been  overlooked  by  Mr.  Sapley,  or  from  a  secret  depository. 
One  looked  like  a  receipt,  the  others  were  papers  folded 
lengthways;  all  of  them  had  evidently  been  in  the  bureau 
some  time. 

He  scarcely  glanced  at  them,  and  thrust  them  into  his 
pocket,  intending  to  give  them  to  Mr.  Sapley  or  Miss  Sar- 
toris,  whichever  he  chanced  to  see  first;  and  he  was  carrying 
in  the  hangings,  when  the  door  opened  and  Claire  entered. 

The  blood  new  to  Gerald's  face  for  a  moment,  then  left  it 
as  pale  as  his  tan  would  permit.  She  did  not  change  color, 
but  a  smile — to  him  it  seemed  a  heavenly  smile — dawned  on 
her  face. 

"  Oh,  why  did  you  not  have  some  of  the  servants  to  do 
this?"  she  said. 

"  It  wasn't  necessary,"  he  said.  "  It  has  taken  very  little 
time.  I  hope  you  have  not  caught  cold  from  yesterday's  wet- 
ting, Miss  Sartoris?" 

"  Oh,  no,  no,''  she  said,  and  she  smiled  again.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  there  was  a  new  note  in  her  voice,  one  still  more 
musical  than  of  old;  but  he  thought  that  it  was  a  fancy  on  his 
part,  born  of  his  newly  discovered  love.  "  I  am  not  in  the 
least  the  worse.  And  have  you  carried  all  those  things  in 
yourself?  Let  me  help  you,"  and  she  went  to  some  of  the 
hangings  he  had  thrown  on  a  chair. 

"  No,  please  don't,"  he  said,  quickly.  "  They  are  smoth- 
ered with  dust  and — "  he  glanced  at  the  beautiful  morning 
frock.  She  hesitated,  then  her  hands  fell  to  her  side,  and  she 
stood  watching  him.  "There  is  no  chance  of  a  storm  to- 
day," she  said,  presently.  "  Mrs.  Lexton  and  I  are  going  to 
drive  to  a  flower  show  at  Thraxton.  At  least,"  she  added, 
more  gravely,  "  she  will  see  the  show,  but  I  shall  remain  in 
the  carriage,  of  course."  Lord  Wharton's  death  was  too 
recent  to  permit  of  her  appearing  in  public.  She  looked  round 
the  room.  "  Is  it  all  clear  now?" 

"  Yes.  Oh,  by  the  way,  I  found  some  papers,  Miss  Sar- 
toris;  they  tumbled  out  of  the  old  bureau."  He  took  them 
from  his  pocket  and  held  them  out  to  her.  "  Mr.  Sap  1 17 
must  have  overlooked  them  when  he  cleared  out  the  things." 

She  did  not  take  the  papers,  but  glanced  at  them  indiffer- 
ently. 

"  I  suppose  they  belong  to  him,"  she  said.  "  I  will  give 
them  to  him;  or,  perhaps,"  she  added,  with  a  little  laugh, 
"  you  will  not  mind  taking  charge  of  them.  If  I  take  them, 
I  shall  be  sure  to  put  them  somewhere  and  forget  them." 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  93 

"  Certainly/'  he  said,  as  he  replaced  them  in  his  pocket. 
"  Most  ladies  do  that." 

She  smiled,  and  moved  toward  the  door,  but  lingered,  look- 
ing out  of  the  window;  then,  as  if  she  had  suddenly  remem- 
bered, she  said:  "  Oh,  Mr.  Way  re,  I  told  Mrs.  Lexton  of  your 
singing,  and  she — I — will  be  so  glad  if  you  will  come  and  dine 
with  us  this  evening.  Will  you?" 

The  invitation  was  given  in  the  frankest  and  simplest  way, 
and  Gerald,  with  a  leap  of  the  heart,  and  forgetting  all  his 
resolutions,  was  about  to  accept  as  simply,  when  he  remem- 
bered something  else,  and  quietly  said: 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  Miss  Sartoris,  but  I  am  afraid  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  come." 

The  faintest  smile  of  disappointment,  not  unmixed  with  sur- 
prise, crossed  her  face.  "  You  will  be — busy?"  she  said,  a 
little  coldly. 

"  No/'  he  said,  frankly,  and  with  a  second's  hesitation. 
"  The  fact  is,  Miss  Sartoris,  I  don't  possess  an  evening  suit." 

Claire's  face  cleared,  and  she  laughed  softly. 

"  I  don't  think  Mrs.  Lexton  will  mind,  and  I  am  sure  I 
shall  not,"  she  said,  with  a  little  touch  of  pleasant  contempt 
in  her  voice.  "  If  that  is  your  only  reason  for  declining,  pray 
come.  I  am  afraid  you  will  find  it  dull — " 

"  No,  I  shall  not  find  it  dull,"  he  said,  almost  abruptly; 
the  prospect  opened  to  him  like  a  glimpse  of  Paradise.  "  I 
shall  be  glad  to  come." 

"  Eight  o'clock,  then/'  she  said.  "  And  you  will  bring 
some  music?" 

He  laughed  and  shook  his  head.  "  What  little  I  possess  I 
carry  in  my  head,"  he  said. 

"  What  a  funny  place  to  keep  it,"  she  said,  with  a  touch 
of  girlish  playfulness  which  thrilled  him.  It  seemed  to  him 
as  if  he  should  never  know  her,  or  exhaust  the  "  infinite 
variety  "  of  her  charm.  She  went,  leaving  the  room,  to  his 
fancy,  echoing  with  the  sweetness  of  her  laugh,  radiant  with 
the  reflection  of  her  loveliness. 

He  went  about  for  the  remainder  of  the  day  like  a  man  in  a 
dream.  The  evening  shone  before  his  mental  vision  with  rays 
of  gold.  To  spend  two,  say,  three,  hours  with  her!  Lee  and 
the  men  noticed  the  rapt  look  on  his  face,  and  one  man  said 
to  another: 

"  He's  a  rare  fine-looking  gentleman,  Mr.  Wayre,  bean't 
he?" 

When  he  came  home  he  took  out  all  his  clothes,  and  put 
them  under  a  severe  inspection,  and  after  the  most  profound 


94  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGttA. 

and  anxious  consideration  chose  a  dark  serge  suit  as  being  th« 
nearest  approach  to  evening  dress.  Then  he  folded  up  the 
others  and  put  them  back  into  the  portmanteau,  and  with 
them  the  coat  he  had  worn  that  day. 

And  he,  of  course,  quite  forgot  the  papers  which  were  still 
in  the  pocket  of  the  coat. 

CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  Thraxton  flower-show  was  a  great  event,  second  only 
in  importance  to  the  annual  visit  of  the  great  traveling  circus, 
and  everybody  who  could  by  any  means  attend  it,  made  a 
point  of  doing  so.  It  was  held  hi  Lord  Chester's  grounds, 
and  his  lordship  and  the  rest  of  the  aristocracy  put  in  an 
appearance  and  wandered  in  and  out  the  tents  and  about  the 

grounds  with  that  fixed  smile  which  always  indicates  intense 
oredom.  There  was  a  band — the  Thraxton  Volunteers — but 
it  discoursed  anything  but  sweet  music,  and  was  just  a  little 
too  loud,  even  for  the  open  air.  However,  Thraxton  was  very 
proud  of  it,  and  it  was  still  more  proud  of  itself,  and  so  gen- 
eral satisfaction  reigned  around.  Although  the  Court  Regna 
gardener  did  not  compete,  his  exhibit  was  always  far  better 
than  any  of  the  others — even  that  of  Lord  Chester's — who, 
though  a  peer,  was  not  nearly  as  rich  as  Miss  Sartoris,  and  of 
much  less  importance  than  the  mistress  of  the  Court. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  Claire  and  Mrs.  Lexton  drove  up  t< 
the  entrance,  and  Mrs.  Lexton  alighted.     She  had  not  wanted 
to  come,  seeing  that  Claire  could  not  go  into  the  show,  but 
Claire  had  insisted,  remarking  that  it  was  the  only  piece  of 
dissipation  that  she  would  be  able  to  offer  her  friend. 
"I  shall  only  just  walk  through,  Claire,"  she  said. 
''  You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  responded  Claire. 
"  You  are  to  look  at  every  flower — I  know  how  iond  you  are 
of  them — and  not  to  hurry  in  the  very  least.     I  shall  be  quite 
happy  watching  the  people." 

And  she  spoke  the  truth.  She  felt  strangely  happy  that 
afternoon;  and,  wisely,  did  not  attempt  to  seek  the  cause; 
though  every  now  and  then  she  remembered  that,  Mr.  Wayre 
was  coming  to  dinner,  and  thought  how  pleasant  it  would  be 
to  hear  him  sing  again. 

^  The  landau,  with  its  superb  bays,  and  servants  in  mourning 
livery,  went  slowly  up  and  down  the  road,  and  Claire  leaned 
back  and  watched  the  people  making  their  way  in  little 
batches  toward  the  entrance,  with  its  flags  and  streamers  flut- 
tering gayly  in  the  slight  breeze.  She  knew,  and  was  known 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGJU.  95 

to  all  of  them,  and  she  bowed  and  smiled  in  response  to  their 
respectful  greetings.  All  Thraxton  and  Regna  seemed  to 
have  taken  a  holiday  that  day,  and  Claire  found  herself  laugh- 
ing softly  in  harmony  with  a  group  of  merry  girls  who  went 
by,  dropping  a  courtesy  as  they  passed  the  grand  carriage. 

The  landau  turned  after  a  little  while,  and  as  it  reached  the 
gate,  Lord  Chester  came  out  and  raised  his  hat.  He  was  a 
tall,  thin  man,  of  about  sixty,  with  close-cropped  white  hair, 
and  a  military  bearing.  He  had  been  the  colonel  of  a  crack 
cavalry  regiment,  and  was  a  distinguished-looking  man,  and 
he  was  a  bachelor,  strange  to  say.  Claire  had  met  him  now 
and  again  at  flower-shows  and  similar  functions,  and  Lord 
Chester  had  a  great  admiration  and  sympathy  for  the  beauti- 
ful girl  whom  Lord  Wharton  had  kept  shut  up  for  so  many 
years. 

He  had  not  only  raised  his  hat,  but  ventured  to  offer  his 
thin,  white  hand. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  out,  Miss  Sartoris,"  he  said  in  his 
clear,  high-bred  voice,  and  with  the  smile  which  many  women 
had  found  so  fascinating.  "  Are  you  not  coming  in?  Ah,  I 
am  afraid  not!  Yes,  yes!  I  am  sorry." 

"  Is  it  a  good  show  this  year?"  asked  Claire. 

He  gave  a  little  shrug  of  his  square  shoulders. 

"  About  the  same  as  usual,  I  think.  Of  course,  the  Court 
exhibit  takes  the  lead,  also  as  usual!  Fortunately,  it  is  not 
wet.  I  don't  know  why;  but  it  generally  is,  as  you  know  to 
your  cost.  I  hope  it  does  some  good.  I  suppose  it  does." 
He  smiled,  showing  his  white,  even  teeth.  "  I  have  often 
asked  myself  which  exerts  the  most  blighting  influence  on  the 
temper — a  flower-show  or  a  local  concert,  and  I  have  never 
been  able  to  decide.  I  think  the  former,  but  then  I  am,  for 
my  sins,  one  of  the  judges,  and  suffer  accordingly.  This  year 
I  was  going  to  propose  that  we  should  give  a  prize  to  every- 
thing; it  would  prevent  so  much  jealousy  and  heart-burning; 
but  the  committee  didn't  see  their  way  to  it.  Committees  of 
all  kinds  are  so  stupid." 

Claire  laughed,  and  as  he  looked  at  her,  he  was  almost 
guilty  of  murmuring  audibly:  "  She  is  more  lovely  than 
ever!"  "  I  hear  you  are  making  great  alterations  at  the 
Court?"  he  said,  aloud. 

"  Yes,"  said  Claire,  and  half  unconsciously  the  color 
mounted  to  her  face. 

He  sighed,  but  smiled. 

"  How  lucky  you  are  to  be  able  to  do  it.  The  Hall  is 
nearly  tumbling  about  iny  ears,  but  I  can't  afford  more  than. 


96  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGHA. 

4  new  slate  or  two  now  and  then/'  He  was  rather  given  to 
jesting  at  his  poverty.  "  Some  of  these  days  you  will  hear 
that  the  roof  has  fallen  in,  and  will  have  to  send  some  of 
your  people  to  dig  me  out  of  the  ruins." 

"  I  will  come  myself,"  said  Claire,  smiling  down  at  him, 

"  Then,  the  sooner  it  falls  in,  the  better!"  he  retorted,  gal- 
lantly. "By  the  way, 'I  hear  wonderful  accounts  of  your 
architect.  Quite  a  clever  young  fellow,  a  sort  of  genius,  isn't 
he?" 

"'Yes,  he  is  very  clever,  I  think,"  said  Claire.  The  color 
had  gone  again,  and  her  face  was  of  its  ordinary  whiteness. 

"Strange  for  a  man  of  these  parts.  We  don't  generally 
breed  geniuses." 

"  Mr.  Wayre  does  not  belong  here,"  she  said. 

"  No?  I  thought  I  knew  the  name."  He  wrinkled  his  brow- 
as  if  he  were  trying  to  remember.  "  I  seem  to  have  heard  it 
before,  somewhere.  Then  you  discovered  him?  That  was 
very  clever  of  you  /"  The  horses  began  to  fidget.  "  But  I 
am  keeping  you.  May  I  call  some  day — soon,  Miss  Sartoris?" 

Claire  murmured  her  permission,  and  the  carriage  moved 
away. 

Lord  Chester  stroked  his  iron-gray  mustache  thoughtfully 
as  he  made  his  way  back  to  the  tent. 

"  Yes,  she  is  the  most  beautiful  girl  I  ever  saw;  and  she  is 
charming,  especially  when  she  looks  straight  at  one  with  those 
violet  eyes,  and  smiles,"  he  said  to  himself.  Then  he  sighed. 
"  I  wish  I  were  twenty  years  younger!"  he  added,  wistfully. 

As  the  carriage  reached  the  end  of  the  road  and  was  about 
to  turn  back  again,  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley  came  along  in  the 
direction  of  the  show.  He  was  very  nicely  dressed  in  a  suit 
exactly  appropriate  to  the  occasion,  and  wore  a  specimen 
begonia  in  the  button-hole  of  his  light-gray  frock-coat.  He 
flushed  a  little  as  he  raised  his  hat  to  Claire,  and  flushed  stil? 
more  when  she  returned  the  greeting  with  a  smile.  He  couli 
scarcely  know  that  the  smile  was  merely  mechanical,  and  tht*t 
she  barely  noticed  him. 

He  entered  the  tent,  and  mixed  with  the  crowd,  nodding 
condescendingly  to  the*  commoner  people,  and  smirking  with 
an  affectation  of  familiarity  with  those  of  the  county  families, 
who  vouchsafed  him  a  nod  or  a  couple  of  fingers.  Presently 
he  left  the  tent,  and  as  he  did  so  he  saw  a  slim,  girlish  figure 
standing  near  a  shrubbery.  It  was  Lucy  Hawker.  Mr. 
Mordaunt  frowned,  and  bit  his  lip,  and,  after  a  cautioiu 
glance  round  him,  strolled  in  her  direction,  and  followed  he* 
into  the  shrubbery.  She  walked  very  slowly,  so  that  he  coul| 


MISTRESS  OF  COUKT  EEGNA.  97 

orerfcake  her,  and  turned  to  him  with  a  smile  on  her  pretty, 
soft  face,  which  many  of  the  Regna  young  men  would  have 

§one  through  fire  and  water  to  obtain,  but  which  roused  Mr. 
apley's  resentment. 

"  So  here  you  are,"  he  said,  trying  to  speak  pleasantly. 

"  Yes/'  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  her  eyes  fixed  on  him  with 
loving  pride.  "  I  thought  I  should  see  you,  Mordaunt.  I 
have  been  keeping  about  here  out  of  the  way,  thinking  you 
would  come  in  search  of  me.  I  hope  you  haven't  been  look- 
ing for  me  long,  and  waiting?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  said,  biting  his  mustache.  "  The  fact  is,  I 
don't  think  it  is  very  wise  of  us  to  be  seen  together.  People 
are  so  quick  to  notice,  and  quicker  to  talk." 

She  looked  at  him  swiftly  and  timidly. 

"  They  have  seen  us  together  before  now,"  she  said. 
"  Surely  there  could  be  no  harm  in  your  speaking  to  me,  Mor- 
daunt, seeing  that  we  have  known  each  other  ever  since  we 
were  children." 

"  Ah,  yes,  children,"  he  said,  still  keeping  a  sharp  look- 
out. "  But  we  aren't  children  any  longer." 

"  Sometimes  I  wish  we  were,"  she  murmured,  sadly. 

"  Eh,  what?  You've  got  into  a  bad  habit  of  muttering  to 
yourself,  Lucy.  I  should  break  myself  of  it,  if  I  were  you." 

She  glanced  at  him  again,  and  her  lips  quivered. 

"  I  am  as  I  have  always  been,  Mordaunt/'  she  said,  softly. 
"  You  did  not  find  fault—" 

"  Oh,  well,  don't  let  us  quarrel  for  the  few  minutes  we  are 
together!"  he  said,  pettishly;  "  and  they'll  have  to  be  precious 
few  minutes,  for  some  of  the  people  are  coming  out  of  the 
tent,  and  will  be  walking  down  here.  And  though  you  don't 
seem  to  mind,  I  do.  I  have  to  think  of  you,  you  see,"  he 
added,  with  noble  disinterestedness. 

"  Forgive  me,  Mordaunt,  dear,"  she  whispered. 

"  There's  nothing  to  forgive.  You  are  just  a  little  careiess, 
that's  all,  Lucy,"  he  said.  "By  George!  here  are  some 
coming  now — good-bye." 

"  Good-bye,"  she  murmured,  hastily. 

She  looked  wistfully  up  into  his  face,  and  then  at  the 
begonia  in  his  coat. 

"  What  a  beautiful  flower,  Mordaunt!" 

"  Yes,  isn't  it?"  he  said.  "  Take  a  prize,  if  I'd  shown  it — 
but  we  swells  can't  go  hi  for  the  prizes." 

Her  face  fell;  perhaps  she  had  thought  that  he  would  gire 
it  to  her. 


98  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT   REGNA. 

"  You  will  come  down  to  the  old  place  to-night,  Mor« 
daunt?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  assented,  hastily.  '  You  walk  on  now,  or 
they'll  see  us.  Good-bye;"  and  he  turned  and  walked  away 
from  her  with  a  scowl  of  sullen  impatience  on  his  face,  which 
changed  to  a  smirk  as  he  met  the  group  approaching  him. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  afterward,  as  the  Court  carriage  was 
standing  a  little  way  from  the  entrance,  Lucy  saw  him  going 
up  to  it,  and,  naturally  enough,  she  drew  up  behind  the  bank 
of  laurels  near  which  she  stood  and  watched  him — for  to  poor 
Lucy  there  was  no  sight  on  earth  so  precious  as  that  of  this 
elegant  "  Oxford  gentleman  "  who  had  won  her  heart. 

Claire,  who  had  been  studying  the  catalogue,  looked  up  as 
he  approached. 

He  raised  his  hat  with  the  respectful  air  which  he  had 
assumed  of  late,  and  said: 

"  Quite  a  large  attendance  to-day,  Miss  Sartoris.  I  am  told 
that  it  breaks  the  record." 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  said  Claire.  "  I  shall  hear  a  full 
account  of  it  from  my  friend,  Mrs.  Lexton." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  can  not  go  in,"  he  said,  and  he  smiled 
rather  nervously.  "  There  are  some  very  good  flowers."  As 
he  spoke,  he  looked  down  at  the  begonia  which  he  now  held 
in  his  hand.  "  Yes.  This — er — is  rather  fine,  isn't  it?" 

Claire  glanced  at  the  flower  and  assented. 

"  Perhaps  you  will — er — accept  it,  Miss  Sartoris?"  he  said. 
"  It  will  be  a  kindness — to  the  flower;  I  shall  be  sure  to  lose 
it  before  I  get  home.  Please  do!" 

Claire  attached  no  significance  to  the  offer.  She  rarely 
went  into  the  village  without  some  of  the  women  or  children 
presenting  her  with  a  flower  or  a  shell;  and  she  was  averse  to 
wounding  any  one's  feelings — even  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley's. 

"  Oh.  thanks,"  she  said,  and  she  took  the  flower.  "  It  is 
a  very  fine  one  indeed.  Are  you  going  back  to  the  tent?  II 
so,  will  you  please  tell  Mrs.  Lexton  on  no  account  to  hurry. 
I  am  quite  happy. " 

With  his  eyes  on  the  flower  in  her  hand,  he  murmured  an 
assent,  and  prudently  took  himself  off. 

Lucy  had  seen  the  whole  of  the  little  incident  quite  dis- 
tinctly; and  as  she  hurried  away  a  shadow  of  disappointment — 
too  slight  to  be  that  of  suspicion — crossed  her  face,  and  she 
sighed  deeply.  He  had  given  Miss  Sartoris  the  flower  he  had 
refused  to  her — Lucy — who  had  given  him  everything! 

It  touched  her  to  the  heart,  but  her  jealousy  would  not 
have  awakened  if  she  had  not  met  Mordaunt  Sartley  a  few 


MISTKESS  OP  COURT  REGKA.  99 

minutes  aftewaul.  He  was  walking  along,  with  his  head 
more  erect  than  usual,  and  a  smile  of  satisfaction  on  his 
weakly  vicious  face,  and  he  started  as  she  came  upon  him 
from  a  side  walk. 

"  Halloo,  Lucy!   not  gone  yet?"  he  said,  with  a  certain 
embarrassment,  which  she  was  quick  to  divine. 
"  No,"  she  said;  "  but  I'm  going  now." 
"  So  am  I.     Quite  tired  of  it.     Beastly  bore,  this  kind  of 
ihinff." 

"You  looked  happy  enough  just  now,  Mordaunt,"  she 
said.  "  What  have  you  done  with  your  flower?" 

He  glanced  at  her  sideways,  and  then  at  his  button-hole, 
with  an  assumption  of  surprise. 

"  My  flower?  Ah,  yes;  it's  gone — I  must  have  dropped  it. 
Wish  I'd  given  it  to  you  to  take  care  of." 

Her  face  flushed  as  she  shrunk  with  a  woman's  horror  of  a 
falsehood  on  the  lips  of  her  lover. 

"Yes,  it  is  a  pity,"  he  said,  lightly.  "Never  mind,  I'll 
bring  you  one  from  the  garden  to-night" 

She  did  not  thank  him,  and  hung  her  head,  with  a  strange 
look  in  her  face,  which  would  have  surprised  him  if  he  had 
not  been  too  wrapped  up  in  his  self-satisfaction  to  notice  it; 
and  they  parted  at  the  end  of  the  walk  with  only  a  faint 
"  Good-bye  "  on  either  side. 

That  evening  Claire,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  was  in 
doubt  as  to  what  she  should  wear  for  dinner.  But  her  hesita- 
tion did  not  last.  With  woman's  true  instinct,  she  felt  that 
if  she  did  not  wear  an  evening  dress,  as  usual,  Gerald  Wayre 
would  think  that  she  attached  importance  to  his  lack  of  a 
dress-suit;  and  she  chose  a  handsome  frock  of  soft  black  silk, 
and  still  softer  lace,  and  wore  a  diamond  bracelet  and 
pendant,  as  well  as  the  spray  he  had  recovered  for  her.  Per- 
haps, too,  she  was  half  conscious  of  the  desire  to  appear  at  her 
jest  in  his  eyes;  and,  again,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she 
felt  a  subtle  kind  of  satisfaction  in  her  attire  as  she  went 
down-stairs  to  the  drawing-room. 

Gerald  was  announced  a  few  minutes  after  she  had  gone 
down;  and,  as  she  glanced  at  him,  she  thought  that  the  plain 
serge  suit  gave  him  as  distinguished  an  appearance  as  the 
regulation  attire  could  have  done.  As  for  him,  as  he  took  her 
hand,  he  had  hard  work  to  keep  his  admiration  from  declar- 
ing itself  through  his  eyes.  But  though  her  beauty  made  his 
heart  throb,  it  filled  him  with  a  despairing  sadness.  The 
costly  gems  served  to  remind  him  of  the  hopelessness  of  his 


100  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGKA. 

passion,  fle  stifled  a  sigh,  then,  with  a  great  effort,  regained 
his  usual  alert  brightness. 

The  butler  announced  dinner  almost  immediately.  It  was 
a  most  enjoyable  meal.  Mrs.  Lexton  was  full  of  the  flower- 
show,  and  Claire  led  her  on  to  give  a  graphic  account  of  it. 
Gerald,  as  he  eat  his  dinner  and  listened  to  the  two  women, 
glanced  now  and  again  round  the  magnificent  room.  Strange 
jo  say,  he  did  not  feel  out  of  place;  rather,  it  seemed  to  him 
as  if  he  had  been  used  to  all  this  stately  refinement.  He  did 
not  feel  at  all  uncomfortable  in  his  serge  suit,  and  the  butler, 
who  was  a  severe  critic  of  men  and  manners,  noticed  the 
absence  of  any  embarrassment  on  Gerald's  part,  and  remarked 
sententiously  in  the  servants'  hall,  that  Mr.  Wayre  "  was  a 
perfect  gentleman." 

Gerald  listened  at  first,  but  presently  he  began  to  talk,  and 
Claire,  to  say  nothing  of  Mrs.  Lexton,  found  herself  com- 
pletely entertained.  Gerald  had  seen  a  large  slice  of  the 
world,  and  could  tell  of  what  he  had  seen  with  that  graceful 
simplicity  which  is  beyond  art.  As  he  told  them  of  scenes 
and  incidents  in  his  checkered  career,  Claire  found  herself 
listening  with  an  almost  breathless  interest,  and  it  was  not 
until  the  butler,  placing  the  famous  Court  Regna  port  upon 
the  table,  had  coughed  twice,  that  Claire  said : 

"  Mr.  Wayre,  you  will  like  to  smoke.  I'm  afraid  I  can't 
offer  you  a  cigar,  or  even  a  cigarette.  Lord  Wharton  did  not 
smoke." 

Gerald  said  he  had  a  cigarette.  "  But  I  am  not  supposed 
to  stay  long,"  he  said,  as  he  opened  the  door  for  them. 

"  No,  don't,  please,  Mr.  Wayre,"  said  Mrs.  Lexton,  who 
seemed  to  lose  her  nervousness  and  timidity  in  his  society. 

"  How  delightful  he  is!"  she  said  to  Claire,  as  they  sunk 
into  the  luxurious  drawing-room  chairs.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  could 
never  tire  of  listening  to  him.  What  I  like  so  much  in  him  is 
the  absence  of  self-consciousness.  So  many  young  men  just 
talk  /or  effect.  Now,  Mr.  Wayre  told  you  the  most  extraor- 
dinary adventures — and  one  feels  that  they  are  true — and  yet 
so  simply,  and  without  bringing  his  own  share  in  them  into 
prominence." 

;<  Yes,"  said  Claire,  quietly.  There  was  a  faint  color  in  her 
face,  and  her  eyes  were  shining  brightly,  as  if  in  rivalry  with 
her  diamonds. 

Mrs.  Lexton  laughed  rather  disappointedly. 

"  I  don't  think  you  admire  him  quite  as  much  as  I  do, 
dear,"  she  said. 

Claire  appeared  engrossed  in  turning  over  the  music,,  and 


THE  MISTRESS  OB-  COURT  REGNA.  101 

made  no  response;  and  she  was  still  thus  employed  when  Ger- 
ald came  in. 

He  remembered  that  he  was  asked  to  sing,  as  well  as  dine, 
and  glanced  at  the  piano. 

"Is  it  too  soon  after  dinner,  Mr.  Wayre?"  said  Mrs.  Lex- 
ton.  "I  hope  not." 

Gerald  smiled.  How  often  had  he  sung  in  the  mining 
camp  the  very  moment  the  hasty  meal  had  been  devoured! 

"I'm  afraid  you  will  be  disappointed  if  you  expect  great 
things,  Mrs.  Lexton,"  he  said.  "  I've  just  got  the  knack  of 
the  street  singer,  that's  all."  He  went  to  the  piano,  where 
Claire  still  stood. 

"  Will  you  see  if  there  is  anything  you  know  here?"  she 
said. 

He  turned  over  the  pile  of  music  and  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  afraid  not." 

"  What  shall  we  do?"  asked  Claire,  with  a  smile. 

"  I'll  try  and  play  something,"  he  said,  modestly. 

"  Oh!"  said  Claire.     "  I  did  not  know—" 

"Oh,  I  only  vamp,"  he  said;  and  he  struck  a  rough-and- 
ready  accompaniment,  then  began  to  sing.  He  did  his  best — • 
naturally  enough,  poor  fellow — and  the  clear  tenor  notes  rose 
and  floated  through  the  room.  Mrs.  Lexton  glanced  at  Claire 
with  a  gesture  of  delighted  surprise. 

But  Claire,  standing  beside  the  piano,  made  no  sign,  only 
when  he  had  finished  she  said,  very,  very  quietly: 

"  Will  you  sing  again?" 

;'  Will  not  you?"  he  asked. 

"  Presently,"  she  replied,  almost  coldly,  for  she  was  fight- 
ing, with  "  sweet  maiden  ferocity,"  against  the  effect  of  his 
nearness,  the  deep  musical  voice  which  seemed  to  wake  a 
subtle  echo  hi  her  heart. 

He  sung  again,  and  still  stronger  grew  the  spell  upon  her. 
She  stood  very  near  him,  listening  to  every  note,  her  eyes 
downcast,  her  heart  beating  fast,  so  that  the  lace  on  her  bosorn 
rose  and  fell  almost  in  unison  with  the  liquid  notes. 

"  Now,  will  you  sing  something?"  he  asked,  and  he  looked 
up  at  her  with  grave  entreaty.  She  turned  over  the  music 
absently. 

"  Here  is  a  duet,  '  Love's  Quest/  "  he  said.  "  I  think  I 
know  that.  Will  you  sing  it  with  me,  Miss  Sartoris?" 

The  "  Miss  Sartoris "  came  afterward,  as  if  he  were 
reminding  himself  of  the  fact  that  he  was  "  Mr.  Wayre,  the 
architect,"  and  it  recalled  her  to  herself. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  and  they  sung.     She  stood 


102  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REONA. 

close  at  his  elbow;  he  could  feel  her  breath  upon  his  hair,  feel 
the  soft,  fleecy  lace— soft  and  fleecy  as  it  was— against  his 
shoulder,  and  he  sung  like  a  man  in  a  dream,  scarcely  know- 
ing that  he  sung.  And  yet  the  words  were  so  significant: 

"  He  knew,  wheree'er  he  went, 
In  hopeless  dreams  his  love  was  spent ; 
For  him  no  joy,  for  him  no  rest; 
He  toiled  in  vain  on  true  love's  quest!" 

When  he  came  to  the  last  line,  his  voice  faltered,  then 
ceased.  He  still  played  the  accompaniment,  but  glanced  up 
at  her. 

From  the  clear  pallor  of  her  face  the  violet  eyes  shone  like 
stars,  and  he  met  their  gaze.  The  music  died  away;  he  was 
back  hi  the  cave  again,  with  her  hair  across  his  lips,  her  hands 
upon  his  shoulders. 

He  glanced  across  the  room,  where  Mrs.  Lexton  had  been 
sitting,  but  she  had  moved  into  the  conservatory,  not  out  of 
hearing,  but  out  of  sight. 

"  Miss  Sartoris!"  he  said,  scarcely  conscious  that  he  was 
speaking.  "  Claire!" 

She  did  not  move,  her  eyes  still  dwelt  upon  him,  and — 
Was  he  mad,  or  did  they  shine  with  a  sudden  tenderness? 
The  divine  madness  of  love  was  upon  him ;  he  forgot  the  social 
gulf  that  divided  them,  forgot  that  he  was  a  penniless  advent- 
urer, and  she  the  mistress  of  Court  Regua.  He  took  the 
small  white  hand  near  him,  and  grasped  it  firmly,  and  love's 
avowal  was  on  his  lips. 

"  Claire!"  he  said. 

As  he  spoke,  alas!  Mrs.  Lexton  came  back  into  the  room. 

"  How  well  your  voices  harmonize!"  she  said.  "  Can  you 
not  find  another  duet?" 

Gerald  glanced  at  her  vaguely. 

"  Miss  Sartoris — Claire — I  must  speak  to  you  to-morrow!" 
he  said,  almost  hoarsely.  "  Do  not  be  angry.  Wait — try 
and  forgive  me — until  to-morrow!" 

Alas,  and  alas!  To-morrow  is  a  fatal  day!  If  he  had  only 
spoken  that  night!  Claire  drew  her  hand  away  without  a 
word,  but  her  star-like  eyes  lingered  upon  his  face,  and  their 
violet  drew  deeper. 

He  got  up — the  room  seemed  to  be  swimming  round — and 
said  a  hasty  good-night  to  Mrs.  Lexton,  who  looked  at  him 
with  pardonable  surprise  at  his  abruptness,  and  left  the  room. 
He  caught  up  his  hat  from  the  hall  table,  and  strode  down 
the  path  through  the  lawns. 

lie  h/wl  been  mad,  mad;  and  yet—    The  tenderness,  the 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  103 

inexpressible  glow  that  lay  in  those  violet  eyes,  still  shone  on 
him,  and  set  his  heart  throbbing  and  leaping.  Was  there 
then  any  hope  for  him? 

He  had  reached  the  turn  of  the  path,  when  a  girlish  figure 
came  quickly,  yet  hesitatingly,  upon  him,  with  a  cry  of  "  Mor- 
daunt!" 

He  did  not  hear  the  word,  but  saw  that  the  figure  was  that 
of  Lucy  Hawker.  In  the  electric  condition  of  his  mind,  her 
sudden  presence  confused  him. 

"  Miss  Lucy!"  he  said. 

Then,  as  he  uttered  a  faint  exclamation,  and  drew  back,  as 
if  startled  and  disappointed,  he  said: 

"  We  seem  fated  to  meet  by  moonlight!" 

She  drew  the  thin  shawl,  which  most  of  the  Regna  girls 
wore,  about  her  face. 

"  It's  you,  Mr.  Wayre?"  she  said,  with  a  gasp  of  relief. 

"  I,  my  very  self,"  he  assented,  scarcely  knowing  what  he 
said.  Then  he  added,  for  he  saw  that  she  was  trembling, 
and  that  her  face  was  haggard  and  drawn,  as  if  with  trouble: 

"  What  is  the  matter?" 

And  as  he  spoke,  the  Fates  and  his  tenderness  for  all  weak 
things  prompted  him  to  lay  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder,  with 
the  strong  man's  ready  offer  of  sympathy  and  consolation. 

The  words,  the  touch,  were  too  much  for  Lucy,  and  she 
bowed  her  head  upon  his  arm  in  sudden  collapse,  and  burst 
into  tears. 

And  as  they  stood  thus,  Claire  stepped  out  on  the  terrace, 
her  heart  beating  fast,  like  a  wild  animal,  in  her  bosom;  and 
as  she  looked  across  the  lawn  these  two  figures,  the  man  with 
his  hand  upon  the  girl's  shoulder,  the  girl  with  her  head  upon 
his  arm,  stood  out  with  startling  distinctness. 

She  looked,  and  her  heart  seemed  to  cease  beating,  a  mist 
rose  before  her  eyes,  a  terrible  cold,  like  that  of  ice,  ran 
through  her  veins,  which  a  moment  ago  had  thrilled  so 
warmly. 

She  uttered  no  cry,  did  not  move,  but  her  face  grew  whiter 
and  still  whiter,  and  her  lips  set  like  those  of  a  marble  statue. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

LIJCY  sobbed  hysterically  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  Gerald, 
who  knew  enough  about  women  to  be  aware  that  it  was  no  use 
speaking  to  her  until  the  little  fit  was  over,  waited  patiently. 
His  new-born  love  for  Claire  filled  his  heart  with  tenderness 


104  THE  MISTRKS6  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

toward  all  her  sex,  and  he  felt  very  sorry  for  Lucy.  Though 
he  did  not  know  what  was  the  matter,  he  guessed  that  it  was 
something  connected  with  a  love  affair,  and  wondered  how  any 
young  fellow  could  have  had  the  heart  to  bring  tears  to  the 
soft,  child-like  eyes. 

If  he  had  even  known  that  Claire  was  watching  him  from 
the  terrace,  he  would  have  felt  no  uneasiness.  All  his  heart  wap 
given  to  Claire,  his  whole  being  absorbed  in  her,  and  it  woulu 
never  have  occurred  to  him  that  she  would  ever  dream  of 
being  jealous  of  Lucy  Hawker. 

Which  shows  that  no  man  has  ever  yet  understood  a  woman. 

When  Lucy's  tears  had  subsided,  she  drew  a  little  away  from 
him,  shamefacedly. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter,  Miss  Lucy?'*  he  asked. 

«  NO — no,  sir!"  she  said,  with  a  little  catch  in  her  voice. 
She  had  had  time  to  find  an  excuse  for  her  hysterical  out- 
burst. "  I  was  walking  alone  in  the  wood  and  I  thought  I 
heard  some  one  behind  me,  then  I  saw  you  and  ran  up  to  you. 
I  was  a  bit  frightened;  I  hope  you'll  forgive  me,  Mr.  Way  re?" 

"  There's  nothing  to  forgive,  Miss  Lucy,"  he  said.  "  I  am 
very  glad  I  chanced  to  be  here.  Didn't  you  call  me  by  some 
name,  though?  I  fancied — " 

"  No,  sir,"  she  said,  hurriedly,  averting  her  eyes. 

"  Ah,  I  thought  you  did/'  he  said.  "  1  was  afraid  you 
were  in  some  trouble;  this  is  a  world  of  trouble,  Miss  Lucy; 
we  all  get  our  share." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  sir,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Just  so.  Now,  if  you  are  in  any  trouble  and  I  can  help 
you,  I  needn't  say  that  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  do  so.  I  don't 
want  to  force  your  confidence — " 

"  Oh,  no — no,  sir,"  she  said.  "  You  are  always  so  very 
good  and  kind." 

"  In  fact,"  he  continued,  "  there  is  some  one  who  has  a 
right  to  know  of  any  trouble  you  are  in;  and  that's  your 
father.  I  have  seen  a  very  great  deal  of  the  world,  Miss 
Lucy,  and  I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  when  anything  is 
wrong  with  a  girl — or,  for  the  matter  of  that,  a  man — she  or 
he  can't  do  better  than  go  to  the  father.  I  haven't  one 
myself,"  he  added,  gravely.  "  I  have  never  had  one  that  I 
remember— I  wish  I  had!— but  I'm  quite  sure  that  I'm  right. 
If  there's  anything  wrong,  anything  that  worries  you,  no 
matter  what  it  is,  go  to  your  father.  I  haven't  any  right  to 
exact  a  promise,  but,  if  I  had,  I  would  ask  you  to  take  my 

-i      .  •  •  »  J 

advice. 
Gerald's  influence  over  most  women  was  a  powerful  one. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGHA.  105 

With  such  a  girl  as  Lucy  Hawker  it  was  irresistible.     She 
drevr  a  long  breath  as  if  she  were  forming  a  resolution. 

"  You  are  very  good  to  me,  Mr.  Wayre,"  she  said.  "  I  am 
in  a — kind  of  trouble,  and  I  will  go  to  my  father." 

"  That's  right!"  said  Gerald,  cheerfully,  little  guessing 
that  he  had  touched  the  spring  of  a  lever  which  would  work 
him  much  woe.  "  You  tell  your  father  everything.  Take 
my  word  for  it,  you  haven't  a  better  friend  on  earth." 

"  I  know — I  know!"  she  murmured.  They  walked  together 
to  the  cottage.  It  was  late,  but  there  were  one  or  two  persons 
on  the  narrow  road,  and  standing  at  their  doors,  and  these 
gave  them  good -night  as  they  passed. 

When  Gerald  reached  his  room  he  lighted  a  pipe  and  paced 
up  and  down,  recalling  every  incident  of  his  evening  at  the 
Court,  and  trying  to  realize  what  had  happened.  He  had 
called  Miss  Sartoris  "  Claire,"  had,  with  the  language  of  the 
eyes,  told  her  that  he  loved  her.  To-morrow  he  must  go  and 
tell  her  so  plainly,  by  word  of  mouth.  How  would  she  receive 
his  avowal?  had  he  only  fancied  the  tender  look  in  her  eyes, 
or  was  it  really  there?  It  seemed  like  madness  to  hope,  and 
yet  his  heart  beat  wildly  with  hope.  He  knew  that  she  was 
noble-minded;  it  was  just  possible  that  she  would  consent  to 
forget  the  difference  between  them,  would  sink  her  pride  of 
wealth  and  station,  and  consent  to  be  his  wife. 

All  night  he  dreamed  of  her;  in  the  morning  he  rose,  had 
his  bath,  and  after  breakfast  went  down  to  the  Court  as  usual. 
Lee  met  him  at  the  half -demolished  wing. 

"  You  haven't  begun  to  pull  down  the  other  part  yet?" 
said  Gerald. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Lee.  "  I  thought  I  would  clear  away  some 
of  the  stuff  first;  there  will  be  less  mess." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Gerald.  He  looked  round  the  works, 
»nd  then  went  across  the  terrace  to  the  hall  door  and  inquired 
for  Miss  Sartoris. 

'*  Miss  Sartoris  is  not  in,  sir,"  said  the  footman.  "  She 
started  directly  after  breakfast  for  a  ride  to  one  of  the  distant 
farms,  and  she  won't  be  back  till  the  afternoon." 

Gerald  went  away  surprised  and  disappointed.  His  heart 
sunk.  What  did  it  mean?  She  must  have  known  that  he 
would  come  early  in  the  morning;  had  she  gone  away  to  avoid 
him?  Yes;  that  must  be  it.  He  was  a  fool  to  hope! 

He  returned  to  the  building,  and  after  watching  the  men 
for  a  little  while,  went  up  to  the  old  room.  He  had  cleared 
everything  out  of  it  excepting  the  portrait  of  the  unknown 
lady.  He  took  this  up  and  looked  at  it  mechanically,  his 


106  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGffA. 

thoughts  with  Claire.  The  face  seemed  to  smile  at  him  morf 
pathetically  than  ever  that  morning,  as  if  it  sympathized  with 
his  hopes  "and  uncertainties.  In  a  vague  way  it  seemed 
familiar  to  him.  He  dusted  it  carefully  with  his  handkerchief, 
and,  deciding  to  take  it  home  for  cleaning  that  night,  looked 
round  for  some  place  of  safety  for  it.  It  occurred  to  him 
that  it  would  be  safer  in  its  old  place  behind  the  panel  than 
anywhere  else,  at  any  rate,  until  they  demolished  the  room, 
and  he  replaced  it  there  and  fastened  the  panel  over  it;  then 
he  went  about  his  work  in  a  perfunctory  way  until  the  sun 
began  to  sink. 

By  that  time  he  judged  that  Claire  would  have  returned, 
and  he  went  slowly  up  to  the  house.  The  footman  said  Miss 
Sartoris  was  in  and  would  see  him,  and  conducted  him  to  the 
library.  He  waited  there  about  five  minutes,  and  then  the 
door  opened  and  Claire  entered. 

She  was  in  her  riding-habit,  and  as  he  looked  at  her,  he 
thought  of  the  morning  at  the  chapel,  of  the  sketch  he  had 
made  of  her,  and  which  he  looked  at  every  night  before  he 
went  to  sleep. 

She  did  not  offer  him  her  hand,  but  stood  holding  her 
whip,  with  her  eyes  downcast.  There  was  no  trace  of  embar- 
rassment on  her  face,  which  was  perfectly  calm  and  almost 
impassive.  To  him  it  seemed  that  it  looked  almost  like  that 
of  a  Grecian  statue,  exquisite  in  its  immobility. 

His  heart  sunk.  If  there  had  been  a  trace  of  bashful  con- 
fusion in  the  lovely  face,  he  would  have  been  encouraged;  but 
he  had  come  to  tell  her  of  his  love,  and  he  would  tell  her,  let 
the  result  be  what  it  might. 

"  You  have  been  for  a  long  ride?"  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  she  assented;  and  her  voice  was  as  impassive  as  her 
face,  though  his  conventional  words  thrilled  through  her. 

"  I  came  up  this  morning  in  the  hope  of  seeing  you,"  he 
s:iid.  "  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  which  I  almost  fear 
to  put  into  words.  To  me  they  seem  so  wild,  so  preposterous, 
that  I  scarcely  dare  hope  that  you  will  accept  them  seriously." 

She  did  not  speak  or  raise  her  eyes,  but  both  hands  closed 
more  tightly  on  the  whip. 

1  Miss  Sartoris,  I  have  told  you  just  what  I  am;  what  the 
world  calls  an  adventurer.  I  came  here  in  the  course  of  my 
wanderings,  and  Chance — Fate,  I  think — drew  me  to  meet 
you.  Fate  might  have  decreed  that  after  exchanging  a  few 
words  with  you,  1  should  go  on  my  way,  but  it  willed  other- 
wise. Since  that  night  I  saw  you  there* in  the  woods  we  have 
met  almost  daily.  From  the  very  first  hour  of  our  meeting, 


THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGtfA.  107 

you  have  exerted  an  influence  over  me  against  which  I  fought 
at  first,  but  against  which  I  can  fight  no  longer." 

Still  she  did  not  speak,  but  her  breath  seemed  to  come 
faster  for  a  moment  or  two. 

"  I  have  felt  that  strange  influence  all  along.  As  I  have 
said,  I  have  struggled  against  it.  I  have  told  myself  twenty 
times  a  day  that  you  are  as  far  above  me  as  the  stars,  that  you 
are  mistress  of  all  this,"  he  waved  his  hand  slightly.  "  Rich, 
of  an  exalted  station,  and  that  I  am — what  you  know.  I  set 
a  guard  upon  myself  and  thought  that  I  had  learned  my  lesson 
too  thoroughly  to  forget  the  difference  between  us;  but  last 
night  my  heart  broke  its  bonds  and  declared  itself.  I  must 
have  shown  you  that  I  loved  you." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face  for  a  second  only;  there  was  no 
encouragement  in  them,  but  almost  an  expression  of  indigna- 
tion, but  Gerald  was  looking  down  and  did  not  see  the  fleeting 
glance. 

"  When  a  man  loves  a  woman  as  I  love  you,  and  has  shown 
her  by  a  look  and  a  whispered  word,  that  he  loves  her,  he 
owes  it  to  her  and  to  himself  that  he  should  speak  out,  let  the 
result  be  what  it  may.  If  I  could  have  kept  my  secret,  I 
would  have  done  so.  I  ask  you  to  believe  that." 

His  voice  was  almost  stern,  and  her  hands,  that  held  the 
whip  so  tightly,  trembled  a  little. 

"  I  know  what  the  world  would  say  if  you  were  to  accept 
my  love.  It  would  say  that  I  had  no  right  to  lay  it  at  your 
feet,  that  you  were  foolish  to  stoop  and  accept  it.  But,  not- 
withstanding this  knowledge,  I  have  come  to  tell  you,  Miss 
Sartoris,  that  I  love  you. " 

A  tremor  passed  over  her  face,  and  the  violet  eyes  were  hid- 
den by  the  long  lashes. 

"  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart  and  soul.  I  have  never  loved 
any  woman  until  I  saw  you." 

She  glanced  at  him  swiftly,  and  her  lips  parted;  but  she  set ' 
them  again  firmly. 

"  You  are  just  all  the  world  to  me,  and  if  yon  send  me 
away,  you  send  me  to  a  life  of  wretchedness  and  misery.  But 
I  do  not  ask  for  your  pity;  I  ask  for  your  love." 

His  voice  vibrated  with  passionate  earnestness,  and  there 
was  a  ring  of  manly  dignity  in  it  which  almost  unnerved 
Claire.  But  the  vision  of  his  meeting  with  Lucy  rose  before 
her  eyes,  and  she  steeled  herself.  Her  face  at  that  moment 
was  like  that  of  a  cameo  in  its  set  whiteness. 

"  If  you  will  give  me  your  love  it  will  be  to  me  as  the 
breath  of  Heaven.  I  can  say  no  more;  I  would  not  have  said 


108  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

this  but— for  last  night!    Miss  Sartoris— Claire— will  you  for. 
get  your  wealth  and  station  and  give  yourself  to  me?    Last 


venture  to  hope?" 

There  was  silence,  broken  only  by  the  ticking  of  the  clock 
on  the  marble  mantel-piece.  "Will  you  not  speak?"  he 
said,  almost  breathlessly.  "Answer  me,  'Yes,'  or  'No.' 
Be  it  what  it  may,  I  will  accept  it  at  once  and  without  ques- 
tion. I  know  that  if  I  am  so  fortunate  as  to  possess  your  love, 
you  will  say  so.  The  difference  in  position  between  us  will 
not  count  with  you.  I  know  that,  for  I  have  learned  to  know 
you.  Speak  to  me,  Claire!  Your  silence  is  terrible!  I 
repeat,  I  love  you!  I  love  you!  I  know  that  if  I  can  win 
your  love  I  can  make  you  happy!  All  my  life  shall  be 
devoted  to  you!  I — "  He  stopped  suddenly,  and  his  strong 
hand  gripped  the  end  of  the  table  vise-like.  Her  silence 
weighed  on  him,  tortured  him. 

"  Speak  to  me!"  he  said.  "  Do  not  be  afraid.  If  it 
should  be  *  No,'  I  shall  not  whine  or  resent  it.  1  have  no 
right  to  do  so.  Who  am  I  that  I  should  dare  to  hope  for  so 
priceless  a  thing  as  your  love!  Whatever  it  may  be,  tell  me 
my  fate!  See,  I  only  ask  for  '  Yes '  or  '  No.'  Which  is  it, 
Claire?" 

She  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him.  It  seemed  to  him, 
in  his  terrible  moment  of  excitement,  that  there  was  some- 
thing almost  accusatory  in  the  gaze  of  her  eyes,  now  deeply 
violet.  It  might  have  been  a  look  of  accusation  or  of  indig- 
nant pride. 

He  waited,  his  heart  beating  fast;  then  the  words  came. 

"  It  ia  «  No/  "  she  said. 

He  stood  for  an  instant,  as  if  scarcely  realizing  the  import 
of  the  curt  sentence.  His  head  sunk  as  he  bit  his  lips,  as  if 
with  an  effort  to  control  himself. 

;'  No?"  he  said. 

"  No,"  echoed  Claire,  almost  inaudibly.  As  she  spoke,  the 
bent  whip  snapped,  and  she  let  the  fragments  drop  from  her 
hand. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said.  "  I  was  mad,  then,  after  all! 
My  love  must  have  deceived  me!  What  can  I  say  to  you. 
Claire— Miss  Sartoris?" 

To  this  question  there  was  no  reply.  The  silence  seemed  to 
weigh  upon  them  both,  the  ticking  of  the  clock  became  a 
torture.  The  room  seemed  to  gwim  round  with  Gerald;  her 


THE   MISTEESS  OF  COURT  BEGNA.  100 

"No"  rang  like  a  knell  within  his  heart.  Outside  the  sun 
shone  brightly,  the  sky  was  dyed  a  glowing  red,  but  to  him 
it  seemed  as  if  a  darkness  had  suddenly  fallen  upon  the  room, 
through  vrhich  shone  the  face  of  the  woman  he  loved,  like  a 
star. 

He  stood  with  downcast  eyes  in  silence  for  a  moment,  call- 
ing upon  all  his  manliness  to  support  him. 

"  It  is  '  No  '?"  he  said.     "  You  do  not  love  me?" 

She  made  no  answer,  but  turned  away  from  him,  so  that  he 
could  not  see  the  anguish  in  her  eyes  and  on  her  quivering  lips. 

He  drew  a  long  breath.  '*  Well,  I  had  no  right  to  expect 
any  other  answer!  It  was  sheer  madness  on  my  part,  and  I 
ought  to  ask  your  forgiveness.  I  do  so." 

She  made  no  response,  and  after  looking  at  her  he  turned 
away  and  looked  out  of  the  window,  as  if  he  could  not  bear  to 
glance  upon  the  face  which  meant  so  much  to  him.  The 
silence  lasted  for  nearly  a  minute;  then  he  said,  huskily,  as  if 
he  were  trying  to  control  his  voice: 

"  You  will  find  it  hard  to  forgive  me,  no  doubt,  Miss  Sar- 
toris.  My  presumption  must  seem  a  heinous  sin  in  your  eyes. 
You  will  not  care  to  see  me — meet  me  again?  I  would  leave 
here  at  once,  to-night — but  there  is  the  building."  He 
thought  for  a  moment,  his  face  heavy  with  care.  "  It  is  not 
necessary  that  we  should  meet.  I  need  not  come  near  the 
house,  and  you  can  avoid  the  new  building  when  I  am  there. 
All  our  business  can  be  done  through  Mr.  Sapley.  When  the 
work  is  completed,  I  will  leave  Eegna  immediately — that  very 
hour,  if  it  be  possible.  I  shall  pass  out  of  your  life  very  soon, 
and  there  will  be  nothing  to  remind  you  of  the — annoyance  I 
have  caused  you!" 

She  did  not  speak  as  she  moved  almost  imperceptibly 
toward  the  door. 

"  One  moment,  before  you  go,"  he  said.  "  1  want  to 
say — to  tell  you,  that  you  are  quite  free  from  blame  in  this 
matter.  It  was  sheer  madness  on  my  part — a  madness  in 
which  you  had  no  part.  I  suppose  that  last  night  my  love  for 
you  deluded  me  into  imagining — all  sorts  of  wild,  improbable 
things." 

Her  hand  went  up  to  her  bosom,  and  caught  at  the  edge  of 
her  habit,  but  she  did  not  speak. 

"I  only  am  to  blame!"  he  said.  "I  was  just  the  moth 
that  loved  a  star,  and  thought  that  because  it  shone,  that  it 
shone  alone  for  me.  By  no  word  or  look  have  you  encouraged 
me  in  my  madness.  Do  not  let  it  weigh  upon  you.  I  am  not 
worth  a  thought.  A  nameless  adventurer  has  crossed  your 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

path,  and  if  he  has  dared  to  love  you—why,  that  is  only 
natural.     He  will  go  as  he  came,  and  there  will  be  an  end  of 

liim   " 

He  forced  a  smile  at  these  brave  words.  Claire  half 
turned,  and  her  lips  parted  as  if  she  were  about  to  speak,  but 
he  held  up  his  hand. 

"  For  God's  sake,  don't  say  any  conventional  words  of  pity!' 
he  said.  "  1  know  that  I  am  not  worthy  of  your  love,  but 
that  does  not  make  the  loss  of  it  any  easier  to  bear.  Let  me. 
go  without  a  word,  Miss  Sartoris,  either  of  pity  or  of  censure. 
The  man  who  is  sentenced  to  death  is  not  consoled  by  the 
speech  of  the  judge." 

Claire  closed  her  lips  and  moved  toward  the  door.  He  went 
and  opened  it  for  her,  and  as  she  passed  out,  he  touched  the 
sleeve  of  her  habit  with  his  lips.  She  did  not  feel  the  caress, 
did  not  meet  the  anguish  in  his  eyes,  and  the  door  closed 
between  them. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

CLAIRE  went  straight  to  her  room.  What  it  had  cost  her 
to  say  that  "  No,"  no  man  can  describe,  and  only  a  woman 
can  understand.  All  the  while  he  had  been  talking,  pleading, 
her  heart  had  gone  out  to  him.  Once  or  twice  her  hands  had 
almost  dropped  the  whip,  had  been  stretched  out  toward  him; 
it  was  only  by  recalling  his  meeting  with  Lucy,  by  keeping  it 
before  her  eyes,  that  she  could  find  strength  to  resist  him. 

Some  women,  loving  as  she  loved,  would  not  have  allowed 
what  she  had  seen  to  come  between  them.  They  would  have 
regarded  it  as  just  a  man's  flirtation  with  a  village  girl,  would 
probably  have  taxed  him  with  it,  and  have  accepted  his 
excuses  and  forgiven  him.  But  Claire  was  not  made  like 
most  women.  Her  very  ignorance  of  the  world,  and  of  tht 
ways  of  the  men  that  dwell  therein,  prevented  her  viewing 
such  a  flirtation  as  a  matter  of  no  moment.  The  fact  that  he 
could  go  straight  from  her  presence  with  a  look  of  love  in  his 
eyes,  the  word  of  love  warm  on  his  lips,  and  caress  Lucy 
Hawker,  filled  her  with  horror. 

And  yet  his  words  had  borne  the  accent  of  truth;  he  had 
been  so  manly  in  his  declaration  of  love  for  her!  Claire  felt 
bewildered,  as  if  she  had  been  plunged  suddenly  into  a  strange 
world,  in  which  men  spoke  with  the  eloquence  of  truth  while 
a  lie  was  in  their  hearts.  She  suffered  cruelly,  for  she  loved 
him  deeply  and  passionately.  What  joy  it  would  have  been 
to  her  to  tell  him  of  that  love,  to  tell  him  that  she  counted 


THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGffA.  Ill 

her  wealth  and  position  as  mere  dross  weighed  against  the 
worth  of  his  love! 

She  wondered  what  he  would  do  now!  Perhaps  she  had 
driven  him  into  the  arms  of  Lucy  Hawker.  At  the  thought, 
a  spasm  of  jealousy  ran  through  her,  and  she  hid  her  face  in 
her  hands.  Should  she  go  away?  However  carefully  she  might 
avoid  him  she  might  see  him,  and  the  sight  of  him  would  cost 
ier  such  acute  anguish.  But,  no,  she  would  not  go  away,  she 
was  too  proud  to  let  him  suspect,  by  her  flight,  that  she  loved 
him;  indeed,  she  would  endeavor  so  to  bear  herself  that  he 
should  think  that  she  had  forgotten  what  had  passed  between 
them,  or,  at  any  rate,  deemed  it  of  no  importance. 

Gerald  went  out  of  the  house  feeling  half  dazed.  Though 
he  had  scarcely  dared  to  hope  that  she  would  accept  him,  her 
refusal  had  completely  crushed  him.  As  he  recalled  her  man- 
ner of  the  previous  evening,  he  still  felt  convinced  that  there 
had  been  something  in  her  eyes  which  had  encouraged  him. 
If  that  was  so,  what  had  happened  since  then?  Perhaps  she 
had  had  time  to  consider  her  position,  to  remember  the  differ- 
ence between  them,  and  her  pride  had  awakened.  After  all, 
it  was  just  what  he  might  have  expected.  What  right  had  he 
to  hope  that  the  mistress  of  Court  Regna  would  stoop  to  love 
a  nameless  adventurer? 

Well,  he  deserved  his  fate.  What  he  had  to  do  now  was  to 
keep  out  of  the  way  while  he  was  compelled  to  remain  at 
Regna,  and  to  get  out  of  it  as  soon  as  possible.  He  must  try 
and  forget  her,  though  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  should  never 
forget  her,  never  cease  to  love  her  while  life  lasted !  As  he 
reached  the  building,  Lee  came  up  and  spoke  to  him.  Gerald 
could  scarcely  bring  himself  to  comprehend  what  the  man 
was  saying,  and  Lee  stopped  and  looked  at  him  curiously  and 
•gravely. 

"  You  are  not  looking  quite  the  thing  this  evening,  sir,"  he 
said. 

"  I've  got  a  headache,"  said  Gerald. 

"  You  look  quite  knocked  up,  sir,"  said  Lee.  "  I'd  go 
home  and  take  a  rest,  sir,  if  I  were  you.  There's  no  need  for 
you  to  be  at  the  works  for  some  days.  I'd  take  a  holiday, 
sir." 

"  A  holiday?"  said  Gerald,  vaguely. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Lee.  I've  got  it  all  clear  before  me,  and 
the  plans  are  so  straightforward  that  I  could  get  out  the 
foundation  and  so  on  without  troubling  you  for  quite  awhile. 
You'd  be  all  the  better  for  a  little  change,  sir." 

The  man's  suggestion  was  a  very  welcome  one  to  Gerald 


113  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT   REGNA. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  if  he  could  get  away  for  a  little  tim*  h« 
could  bear  the  blow  better.  Every  moment  he  was  near  the 
place  he  would  be  dreading  meeting  her. 

"  I  rather  think  I  will  take  your  advice,  Lee,"  he  said. 
"  I  am  feeling  rather  knocked  up,  and  a  change  will  put  me 
straight." 

He  went  over  the  works  with  Lee,  and  saw  that  everything 
.vas  right  to  the  minutest  detail,  then  he  went  homeward. 
The  spring  had  gone  out  of  his  step;  he  walked  with  his  head 
bent — a  very  different  man  to  the  Gerald  Wayre  of  a  few 
hours  ago. 

He  went  down  to  the  pier,  and  lighting  a  pipe,  stared 
vacantly  at  the  sea.  Like  Claire,  he  felt  bewildered.  Why 
had  she  said  "  No  "  so  coldly?  It  was  unlike  her.  She  had 
been  kindness  and  gentleness  itself  up  to  this  morning.  It 
was  strange  that  she  had  not  said  one  word  of  regret  for  his 
foolish  passion.  "  She  might  have  let  me  down  easier!"  he 
said  to  himself.  "  It  was  not  like  her!"  He  could  not  but 
remember  her  many  acts  of  kindness;  how  she  had  clung  to 
him  in  the  cave;  had  always  treated  him  as  an  equal  and  a 
friend.  Why,  she  had  gone  out  of  her  way  to  ask  him  to 
spend  an  evening  at  the  Court.  Had  she  been  aware  of  his 
love  all  the  time,  and  simply  been  amusing  herself?  He  put 
the  thought  away  from  him  at  once.  No,  he  knew  her  too 
well  to  deem  her  guilty  of  that.  Her  treatment  of  him  was 
inexplicable.  But  it  didn't  matter;  he  had  got  his  answer, 
and  must  put  up  with  it.  After  all,  many  a  better  man  than 
he  had  loved  in  vain.  Was  he  to  make  moan?  He  would 
bear  it  like  a  man,  and  try  and  forget  her.  He  would  go 
away  somewhere  and  come  back  and  show  her  that,  at  least, 
he  felt  no  resentment  of  his  dismissal.  Perhaps,  who  knew? 
She  would  let  him  be  her  friend,  her  humble  friend,  though 
she  would  not  accept  him  as  her  lover. 

A  boat  was  moored  to  the  quay,  just  beneath  him,  and,  for 
the  sake  of  something  to  do,  he  strolled  down  and  spoke  to 
the  captain. 

"  You've  got  fine  weather,"  he  said. 

The  man  assented.  "  Yes,  I'm  hoping  it  will  last,"  ho 
said.  "  We  sail  this  evening." 

"  Where  are  you  going?"  asked  Gerald,  absently. 

"  Coast  o'  France,"  replied  the  captain,  cutting  a  slab  of 
black  tobacco  and  stowing  it  away  carefully  in  his  left  cheek. 
"  I  should  have  started  last  night,  but  one  o'  my  hands  'as 
gone  up  to  Thraxton  to  see  his  mother,  as  is  ill.  I  expected 
him  back  afore  this,  but  I  suppose  she's  worse.  It's  a  ter- 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  113 

riblb  bad  place  to  get  a  hand  if  you  want  one  in  a  hurry. 
This  'ere  Regna  used  to  turn  out  the  finest  seamen  in  Eng- 
land; but  since  they've  taken  to  salmon-fishin'  they've  got 
too  lazy  to  go  to  sea.  It's  a  darned  sight  more  amusing  to 
loaf  about  on  the  quay  all  day,  and  jest  go  out  with  a  net  for 
an  hour  or  two  while  the  tide  suits.  It's  a  kind  o'  gamblin', 
and  once  it  gets  hold  of  a  man  it's  just  as  bad  as  other  kinds 
o'  gamblin'.  If  my  man,  don't  turn  up,  I  shall  'ave  to  sail 
short-handed;  for  sail  I  must  to-night." 

"  I  hope  he'll  turn  up,"  said  Gerald  in  his  pleasant  way. 
He  sauntered  away  and  walked  along  the  cliff.  After  awhile 
it  occurred  to  him  that  he  was  still  in  Regna,  that  he  had  not 
decided  where  to  go.  He  thought  of  walking  into  Thraxton, 
taking  the  train  for — anywhere.  Then  suddenly  he  remem- 
bered the  coaster,  and  what  the  captain  had  said.  Why 
shouldn't  he  offer  himself  in  the  place  of  the  missing  man,  if 
he  had  not  turned  up?  Gerald  was  a  man  who  came  to  rapid 
decisions.  The  idea  suited  him.  He  walked  back  across  the 
hills  to  the  cottage,  and  going  to  his  room,  crammed  some 
clothes  into  a  canvas  bag,  exchanging  those  he  had  on  for 
a  rough  jersey  suit,  not  unlike  that  worn  by  fishermen. 

He  carried  the  bag  down-stairs,  intending  to  ask  the  lad 
belonging  to  the  cottage  to  take  the  bag  to  the  quay,  but  no 
one  seemed  to  be  about;  old  Hawker  was  not  in  his  usual 
place,  and  Lucy  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  He  saw  through 
the  window  that  the  vessel  was  getting  ready  to  sail;  if  he 
meant  to  go  by  her,  there  was  not  a  minute  to  lose.  It 
occurred  to  him  that  the  Hawkers  might  like  to  have  some  of 
the  money  that  was  due  to  them  from  him.  He  put  a  couple 
of  sovereigns  on  the  mantel-shelf,  and  shouldering  his  bag, 
left  the  house,  thinking  that  he  should  be  sure  to  meet  Hawker 
or  Lucy,  to  whom  he  could  explain  that  he  was  going  away 
for  a  few  days. 

But  he  met  no  one  on  his  way  to  the  quay;  most  of  the  men 
were  at  the  salmon-fishing,  and  a  shower  had  driven  the 
women  indoors.  There  was  no  time  to  hunt  for  some  one  to 
take  a  message,  for  the  vessel  was  getting  up  her  sails.  He 
ran  along  the  quay  and  jumped  on  board. 

The  captain  looked  at  him  with  natural  astonishment. 

"  Good-evening,  captain.     Has  your  man  come  back?" 

"  No,"  said  the  captain. 

"  If  you  haven't  got  another  in  his  place,"  said  Gerald, 
"  perhaps  you'll  take  me!  I  know  the  work.  In  fact,  I've 
served  befoie." 


114  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGNA. 

The  captain's  astonishment  had  not  yet  subsided,  but  with 
the  stolidity  of  his  class,  he  acceded  to  the  proposition. 

"  It's  rather  a  queer  fancy  for  a  gentleman,  ain't  it,  sir?" 
he  said.  "  But  you  know  your  own  mind,  I  suppose." 

"The  fact  is,  I  want  a  change,"  said  Gerald.  "And  a 
little  hard  work  will  do  me  good.  Your  cruise  won't  be  a 
long  one,  I  suppose?" 

"  Can't  say,"  said  the  captain.  "  But  you  can  leave  th« 
ship  when  we  get  to  a  French  port.  You  can  mess  with  me, 
if  you  like,"  he  added;  "and,  take  it  bye  and  large,  you 
won't  be  so  very  uncomfortable." 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  that,"  said  Gerald,  with  a  short  laugh, 
as  he  flung  his  bag  on  the  deck.  "  Now,  captain,  I'm  at 
your  service." 

They  got  the  sails  up,  the  anchor  was  weighed,  and  the 
smack  sailed  bravely  from  the  quay.  It  was  rather  a  singular 
fact,  the  significance  of  which  did  not  strike  Gerald  until  after- 
ward, that  no  one  on  land  had  seen  him  go  on  board  the 
"  Susan,"  and  that  he  had  left  no  message  behind  him  which 
could  serve  as  a  clew  to  his  movements. 

Just  about  the  time  Gerald  had  been  sitting  on  the  quay, 
Mordaunt  Sapley  was  making  his  way  by  the  crooked  and 
unfrequented  path  to  that  part  of  the  beach  hidden  by  the 
projecting  cliff  from  the  view  of  the  little  harbor.  He  was 
walking  slowly,  and  with  a  sullen  and  thoughtful  countenance. 
He  was  going  to  meet  Lucy.  Only  a  few  months  ago  he  had 
trod  the  same  path  eagerly  enough,  but  that  was  when  his 
fancy  for  her  was  fresh  and  keen.  Like  all  weak  and  selfish 
men,  Mordaunt  Sapley  had  drifted  into  his  intimacy  with  Lucy 
without  thinking  of  anything  but  the  gratification  of  a  passing 
desire,  and  without  considering  the  consequences;  and,  in  the 
first  flush  of  his  enjoyment  of  the  conquest  of  the  simple- 
hearted  girl,  he  had  thrust  all  thought  of  those  consequences 
from  him.  But  when  he  had  begun  to  grow  weary  of  her, 
ihev  had  commenced  to  loom  ominously  before  him. 

Matters  were  growing  awkward.  The  little  fool,  as  Mor- 
daunt mentally  called  her,  had  actually  believed  in  his  promise 
to  marry  her.  She  was  getting  troublesome.  It  would  have 
been  awkward  enough  under  any  circumstances,  but  under 
those  in  which  he  was  placed,  it  was  most  serious.  He  was 
entirely  dependent  on  his  father.  At  no  time  would  Mr. 
Sapley  have  consented  to  Mordaunt's  marrying  the  daughter 
of  a  Regna  inn- keeper;  certainly  not  now  when  he  had  actu- 
ally set  his  mind  upon  Mordaunt's  gaining  the  hand  of  the 
mistress  of  Court  Regna.  Mordaunt  knew  that,  fond  as  hie 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  115 

father  was  of  him,  ambition  occupied  as  large  a  share  in  his 
heart  as  affection  for  his  son,  and  that  if  he,  Mordaunt,  were 
to  dare  to  thwart  that  ambition,  his  father  would  cast  him  off 
without  the  least  compunction.  The  idea  of  going  to  him  and 
telling  him  that  he  would  have  the  honor  of  being  father-in- 
law  to  Lucy  Hawker  was  not  to  be  entertained  for  a  moment. 

Besides,  Mordaunt  himself  never  intended  to  keep  .us 
promise;  never  at  any  time,  even  in  the  first  flush  of  Lis 
vicious  passion;  certainly  not  now,  when  he,  too,  began  to 
tbJInk  that  there  might  be  a  chance  of  marrying  Miss  Sartoris. 
His  heart  beat  fast  with  ambition  and  self-conceit  as  he  told 
himself  that  Miss  Sartoris  had  accepted  his  flower,  and  had 
smiled  on  him  of  late.  Who  knew?  There  might  actually 
be  something  in  his  father's  assertion  that  he  could  help  him 
to  become  master  of  Court  Regna. 

He  cursed  himself  as  a  fool  for  having  got  himself  mixed 
up,  entangled,  with  a  low-bred  love  affair.  If  the  slightest 
whisper  of  it  reached  the  ears  of  Miss  Sartoris,  away  went  all 
chance  of  his  success  in  that  quarter;  his  father  would  be 
furious,  and,  in  his  fury,  would  probably  disown  his  son  and 
cast  him  on  the  world.  So  that  he  would  lose  not  only  all 
prospect  of  marrying  Miss  Sartoris,  but  of  inheriting  his 
lather's  ill-gotten  wealth.  What  should  he  do?  A  change 
seemed  to  have  come  over  Lucy  lately.  She,  who  used  to  be 
so  docile,  so  yielding,  had  seemed  to  him  to  have  grown  im- 
patient and  even  suspicious.  He  felt  that  his  hackneyed 
promises  and  honeyed  speeches  would  have  uo  longer  any 
effect.  She  had  begun  to  doubt  him. 

His  face  grew  darker,  and  he  gnawed  his  lip  as  he  went 
down  the  cleft  in  the  rock  toward  the  meeting-place,  and  it 
was  only  by  an  effort  that  he  cleared  his  face  from  the  scowl 
which  made  him  look  so  like  his  father,  as  he  came  in  sight  of 
Lucy. 

She  was  seated  on  a  rock,  and  she  did  not  spring  forward  to 
meet  him  as  of  old,  but  waited  until  he  came  close  up  to  her, 
then  she  looked  up  at  him  with  something  like  reproach  in 
her  eyes. 

"  You  did  not  come  last  night,  Mordaunt?"  she  said. 

"  I  couldn't,"  he  said,  stooping  to  kiss  her.  "  I  was  de- 
tained at  work  for  the  governor;  but  I'm  here  now.  What's 
the  matter?  You  look  as  if  you'd  lost  a  fortune." 

She  glanced  at  him,  then  gazed  out  at  sea  with  a  pathetic 
gravity. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,  Mordaunt,"  she  said,  "and  when 
£  woman  thinks,  when  she  has  done  what  I  have  done,  it 


116  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA, 

makes  her  sad.  Mordaunt,  I  want  you  to  listen  to  me. 
Don't  be  angry  " — she  clasped  her  hands  tightly  in  her 
lap—"  I  want  to  tell  you  what  I  have  decided  to  do/' 

"  Well,  what  have  you  decided  to  do?"  he  said,  with 
assumed  lightness,  "  Something  terrible?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  terrible,"  she  replied  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  have 
resolved  to  tell  my  father." 

He  started,  and  his  lips  drew  together.  "  Tell  your  father, 
Lucy?"  he  said.  "  Do  you  want  to  ruin  me?" 

"  God  knows  I  don't  want  to  do  that,  Mordaunt!"  she 
said,  "  but  I  can't  bear  it  any  longer.  I  seem  as  if  my  eyes 
were  suddenly  opened  to  the  wickedness.  I  can't  bear  it  any 
longer!  Somehow,  something  seems  to  tell  me  that  you  have 
been  deceiving  me,  that  you  never  intended  to  make  me  your 
wife,  never  intended  to  let  your  father  know!"  She  looked 
up  at  his  face.  It  was  very  pale,  and  his  eyelids  were  well 
down  over  his  eyes. 

"  This  is  rather  sudden,  Lucy;  isn't  it?"  he  said.  "  You 
take  me  by  surprise." 

"  It  is  sudden,"  she  said.  **  It  doesn't  come  all  from 
myself.  I've  had  advice,  good  advice." 

He  started.  "  Who's  been  giving  you  advice?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"Mr.  Wayre." 

His  face  flushed  hotly,  and  he  darted  a  look  of  positive 
hatred  at  her. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  told  him  f"  he  said,  thickly. 

"  No,  no;  oh,  no!"  she  said,  with  a  little  shudder;  "  but  I 
met  him  last  night,  and  he  saw  by  my  face  that  I  was  in 
trouble,  and  he  advised  me,  in  his  kind,  gentle  way,  to  tell 
my  father;  and  I  must  do  so,  Mordaunt." 

Mordaunt's  face  cleared  somewhat.  He  stood  biting  at  his 
mustache.  He  had  inherited  something  of  his  lather's 
shrewdness,  and  he  saw  at  once  that  it  would  be  useless  to 
remonstrate  with  her,  or  attempt  to  cajole  her.  What  should 
he  do?  Ruin  stared  him  in  the  face.  If  she  told  her  father, 
old  Hawker  would  go  straight  to  Mr.  Sapley;  all  Regna 
would  be  eager  to  avenge  the  wrong  inflicted  upon  Lucy,  who 
was  the  accepted  belle  of  the  place.  He  must  temporize. 

It  is  at  such  moments  that  terrible  temptation  assails  such 
men  as  Mordaunt  Sapley.  Their  very  cowardice  and  weak- 
ness of  character  gives  them  a  devilish  strength.  Your 
cowards  will  do  anything,  will  commit  any  crime,  to  save  his 
miserable  skin,  or  secure  his  self-comfort.  A  terrible  tempta- 
tion assailed  Mordaunt  Saplev.  The  devil  was  whispering  in 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  11? 

his  ear,  as  he  stood  there  in  the  gloaming,  beside  the  innocent 
girl  he  had  ruined.  He  tried  weakly  to  put  it  from  him,  but 
it  clung  to  him  like  the  loathsome  embrace  of  a  serpent  coil- 
ing round  his  heart.  He  laughed  a  discordant  laugh,  and 
Lucy  looked  up  at  him  with  a  slight  start. 

"It's  funny  how  things  come  about!"  he  said.  "It's 
singular  you  should  have  arrived  at  this  decision  just  as  I  have 
arrived  at  a  solution  of  our  little  difficulty,  Lucy." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Mordaunt?"  she  asked. 

"  Why,  I  mean  that  I  too  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
things  can't  go  on  like  this  any  longer.  It's  not  fair  to  you, 
dear.  I  know  you  think  I'm  selfish,  and,  perhaps,  1  am  a 
little,  but  I  don't  lose  sight  of  your  interests  also.  Now,  look 
here,  dearest;  I'm  going  to  be  quite  plain  with  you.  You  tell 
your  father,  as  you  threaten,  and  I'm  a  ruined  man,  and 
you're  ruined,  too.  There  would  be  an  awful  row,  and  my 
father  would  cast  me  off  without  a  penny,  and  we  should  be 
just  as  far  away  from  being  married  as  we  are  now.  In  fact, 
it's  a  foolish  plan  of  yours,  and  I've  got  a  far  better  one." 

She  looked  at  him  patiently. 

"Why  shouldn't  we  go  off  together  and  be  married 
quietly?" 

The  color  flooded  her  face,  and  her  lip  trembled. 

"  Why  shouldn't  we  go  to-night?"  he  said.  "  We  could 
catch  the  night  mail  from  Thraxton,  and  be  married  in  Lon- 
don to-morrow,  or  the  day  after.  A  day  won't  matter."  He 
sneered  covertly. 

She  rose,  her  hands  clasped  tightly,  her  face  pale  with  emo- 
tion. "Mordaunt!"  she  breathed. 

"  Why  not?"  he  said.  "  Nothing's  easier.  After  we're 
married  you  can  keep  quiet  in  London.  You  can  make  some 
excuse  for  leaving  so  suddenly,  or  you  can  tell  your  father  the 
truth  and  bind  him  to  secrecy.  He'll  hold  his  tongue  for  your 
sake." 

"  Yes!"  she  murmured.  "  He  would  keep  our  secret — if 
we  were  married." 

"  Just  so,"  said  Mordaunt,  "  and  as  there's  no  time  like 
the  present,  I  say  let  us  go  to-night.  My  father's  away,  and 
will  know  nothing.  I  can  come  back  in  a  day  or  two's  time. 
Now,  if  you're  willing,  we'll  start  at  once." 

She  looked  round  her  confusedly.     She  was  all  of  a  tremble. 

"  I  can't  go  like  this,  Mordaunt!"  she  breathed.  "  I  must 
have  some  clothes!" 

He  had  foreseen  this,  and  he  nodded  assentingly.  "  Eun 
up  home  and  get  what  will  go  into  a  small  bundle,"  he  said. 


H8  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REONA. 

"  Mind  no  one  sees  you,  and  come  back  as  quickly  as  possible. 
\\oinen  are  sharp  at  that  kiud  of  thing." 

She  did  not  notice  the  sneer.  4<  Oh,  Mordaunt!  I  am 
shaking  all  over,"  she  said. 

He  drew  her  to  him,  and  kissed  her  with  a  Judas  kiss. 

"  It's  all  right!"  he  said.  "  Run  up  and  get  the  bundle; 
I'fl  wait  here.  We'll  walk  along  the  cliff  to  Thraxton  and 
catch  the  mail,  and  to-morrow,  or  the  day  after,  you  will  bt> 
Mrs.  Mordaunt  Sapley!" 

She  stood  for  a  moment  with  her  hand  to  her  head,  then 
with  a  long  look  at  him,  a  look  of  gratitude  and  love,  she 
sped  away. 

When  she  had  gone,  Mordaunt  Sapley  sunk  on  to  the  rock 
where  she  had  been  sitting,  and  stared  out  to  sea.  A  cold 
shaking  fit  seized  him,  and  he  shook  like  a  leaf.  The  hellish 
thought  in  his  mind  was  like  the  presence  of  a  very  devil,  and 
overmastered  him.  Even  then  he  would  have  turned  back 
from  the  path  upon  which  his  feet  were  stepping,  a  path  that 
shone  redly  as  with  blood;  but  it  was  too  late,  for  though  it 
had  seemed  to  him  but  a  few  minutes,  he  heard  her  footsteps 
returning  upon  the  rocky  track,  and  he  started  to  his  feet, 
white  still,  but  trembling  no  longer. 

'*  Are  you  ready?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  panted.  "  I  got  the  things  without  any  one 
seeing  me.  Here  they  are.  It  is  only  a  small  bundle;  you 
will  not  be  ashamed  of  me,  Mordaunt?" 

"  Noi  no!"  he  said,  hastily.  "  Let  us  go.  There  is  just 
time  to  catch  the  mail." 

They  ascended  to  the  cliff  path.  She  was  panting  still. 
He  tried  to  speak,  but  could  find  no  words;  his  tongue 
seemed  to  cleave  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth.  She  must  have 
felt  the  silence  oppressive,  for  presently  she  said: 

"  Mordaunt,  speak  to  me!" 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her. 

"  What's  the  matter?"  he  asked. 

She  could  not  see  his  face,  but  there  must  have  been  some- 
thing in  the  tone  of  his  voice  which  gave  her  warning. 

'Mordaunt!"  she  gasped.  "  I  am  afraid  I  can't  do  it!  I 
can't  go  and  leave  my  father  without  a  word!  Let  us  go 
back." 

He  gripped  her  arm.  "  Hold  your  tongue,  you  fool!"  he 
hissed.  It's  too  late  to  go  back!" 

"  I  must!    I  must!"  she  cried.     Unconsciously  she  raised 
her  voice. 
;   He  gripped  her  still  mor«  tightly  and  looked  round  fearfully. 


THE  MISTEESS  OF  COURT  EEGNA.  119 

"  Hold  your  tongue!"  he  said,  thickly,  his  mouth  close  to 
her  ear.  "  Some  one  will  hear  us!" 

But  fear  had  gained  possession  of  her,  a  vague  fear  no  less 
terrible  for  its  vagueness. 

"  I  will  go  no  further,  Mordaunt!"  she  said  in  broken 
accents.  "  Let  me  go  back  and  tell  my  father?" 

He  laughed,  and  seized  her  other  arm.  "  You'd  rather  ruin 
me,  you  fool!"  he  exclaimed. 

"  No!  no!  1  don't  want  to  ruin  you,  Mordaunt.  Let  me 
go  back,  and  I'll  promise  not  to  say  a  word!" 

"As  if  I'd  trust  you  or  any  other  woman,"  he  snarled. 
His  face  wore  the  expression  it  had  worn  when  he  had 
beaten  the  terrier  pup. 

She  strove  to  wrench  her  arms  from  his  grasp.  He  had 
edged  her,  perhaps  unconsciously,  to  the  brink  of  the  cliff. 
He  heard  the  sea  rolling  in  the  dizzy  depth  below  him,  the 
devil  of  murder,  that  had  been  whispering  at  his  ear  for  an 
hour  past,  now  prompted  him.  He  forced  her  still  nearer  the 
edge;  then,  as  she  swayed  on  the  brink,  he  released  her  arms, 
and  she  fell  over,  with  a  cry  that  seemed  to  go  through  him 
like  a  knife. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  moment  she  had  fallen,  Mordaunt  realized  what  he  had 
done.  He  stood  alone  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff;  the  girl  who 
had  loved  him  so  devotedly  was  lying  on  the  beach  beneath. 
He,  who  ought  to  have  cherished  and  protected  her  against 
every  ill,  had  taken  her  life. 

He  was  a  murderer! 

As  he  realized  the  fact,  Mordaunt,  obeying  the  impulse 
which  comes  to  every  shedder  of  blood,  looked  round  him 
fearfully.  Had  any  one  seen  them  together,  had  any  one 
heard  her  terrible  cry,  the  cry  that  was  still  ringing  in  his 
ears?  All  was  still;  "he  seemed  to  be  alone,  alone  with  the 
devil  that  had  prompted  him  to  do  the  deed,  and  now 
mocked  him  with  a  futile  remorse. 

At  that  moment  Mordaunt  Sapley  would  have  bartered  all 
his  hopes  of  winning  Claire,  of  inheriting  his  father's  wealth, 
of  life  itself,  for  Lucy's  presence  once  more  beside  him.  The 
whole  seemed  like  a  hideous  dream.  Surely  it  was  impossible 
that  he,  a  gentleman,  a  'Varsity  man,  who  vaunted  himself 
of  his  culture  and  refinement,  could  have  stooped  to  a  com- 
mon, vulgar  murder!  What  a  fool  he  had  been!  If  things 


130  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfJL. 

had  come  to  the  worst,  if  Lucy  had  carried  out  her  threat, 
and  made  known  their  intrigue,  matters  would  not  have  been 
so  bad  after  all.  He  might  have  given  the  Hawkers'  money, 
any  amount  of  money,  might  have  left  Regna  until  the 
storm  blew  over.  He  had  done  no  more  than  many  anothei 
young  man.  She  would  have  suffered;  but  people  would  have 
forgiven  him  his  share  in  the  business  and  soon  forgotten  it. 

He  tore  at  his  lips  as  these  thoughts  passed  through  his 
mind,  and  cursed  himself  aloud.  Then  fears  for  his  own 
safety  began  to  crowd  upon  him.  The  body  was  lying  on  the 
beach;  it  would  be  found  by  one  of  the  fishermen  or  coast- 
guard ;  if  the  tide  washed  it  out  to  sea  it  would  be  picked  up 
by  one  of  the  boats.  He  must  do  something  with  it!  But 
what? 

Looking  round  again,  listening  intently,  he,  stooping  low, 
descended  the  cliff,  going  in  a  zigzag  fashion  from  ledge  to 
ledge  in  a  way  that  he  would  not  dared  to  have  attempted 
in  broad  daylight  and  under  ordinary  circumstances.  That  he 
reached  the  bottom  in  safety  is  an  extraordinary  fact.  The 
sky  was  cloudy,  but  the  moon  behind  the  drifts  lent  him 
sufficient  light  by  which  to  see  the  slight  form  stretched  out 
upon  the  shore. 

She  was  lying  upon  a  little  strip  of  sand  with  her  face 
upturned.  He  stumbled  toward  her,  and,  almost  lying  beside 
her,  laid  his  hand  upon  her  heart;  it  was  quite  still;  he  knew 
that  she  was  dead.  He  gazed  at  the  white  face  with  a  red 
streak  across  it  from  a  wound  on  her  forehead,  gazed  in  a 
kind  of  stupor.  Suddenly  a  kind  of  hope  seized  him.  \Vliy 
should  not  people  think  she  had  fallen  over  the  cliff?  The 
blood  flew  to  his  face,  then  left  it  white  again,  as  a  groan 
burst  from  his  lips;  his  eyes  had  fallen  upon  her  wrists,  upon 
which  were  the  red  marks  of  his  fingers;  they  would  be  black 
ently  and  would  tell  their  own  tale. 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  and,  swaying  to  and  fro,  clasped  his 
head  in  his  hands.  What  should  he  do  with  the  body?  His 
eye  fell  upon  a  piece  of  wood,  which  had  washed  ashore  from 
some  wreck;  its  shape  bore,  or  he  fancied  that  it  bore,  some 
resemblance  to  a  spade,  and  it  gave  him  an  idea.  He  sprung 
at  it,  and  began  to  dig  in  the  patch  of  sand.  He  dug  with 
feverish  energy,  the  sweat  pouring  off  him  in  streams,  his  eyes 
never  lifted  from  his  task  until  he  had  excavated  a  hole  some 
three  feet  deep.  Then  he  straightened  his  back  and  ap- 
proached the  body.  He  went  toward  it  slowly,  looking  over 
his  shoulder,  as  if  he  dared  not  permit  his  eyes  to  rest  on  it. 
Three  or  four  times  his  hands  stretched  out  "toward  it  before 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  121 

he  could  summon  courage  to  touch  it,  and  when  he  did  so,  a 
shudder  shook  him  from  head  to  foot. 

He  dragged  the  body  into  the  hole,  and  began  to  cover  it 
with  sand.  What  horrors  seized  and  shook  him  during  this 
grewsome  business  no  pen  can  describe;  once  or  twice  he  was 
compelled  to  stop,  overcome  by  a  deathly  sickness.  He  fan- 
cied that  he  could  see  her  face  looking  up  at  him  reproach- 
fully, could  hear  her  voice  pleading  for  her  life. 

When  he  had  filled  in  the  sand,  he  dragged  some  rocks  and 
stones  over  the  grave,  arranging  them  as  naturally  as  pos- 
sible; then  he  stopped  and  looked  seaward.  In  another  hour 
the  tide  would  cover  the  spot  and  smooth  away  all  evidence  of 
his  work. 

He  was  safe! 

His  brain  was  working  acutely  now,  and  he  could  plan.  In- 
case the  body  should  by  some  miracle  be  recovered,  and  he- 
should  be  suspected,  it  would  be  well  for  him  to  be  able  to 
prove  an  alibi.  There  was  just  time  for  him  to  get  round  the 
cliffs  and  on  to  the  Thraxton  road  by  a  path  he  knew,  before 
the  tide  rose.  He  would  go  into  the  hotel  at  Thraxton  and 
talk  with  some  one.  Chance  might  help  him. 

He  started  off,  and  had  rounded  the  point  for  which  he  was 
making  just  as  the  tide  was  within  a  foot  of  his  path;  then 
suddenly  he  stopped,  and  a  hot  wave  rushed  over  him.  The 
bundle  which  Lucy  had  been  carrying!  What  had  become  of 
it?  Had  she  dropped  it  on  the  cliffs?  No;  he  felt  sure  that 
she  had  not  done  so;  he  remembered  that  it  was  slung  upon 
her  arm  as  he  gripped  her.  It  must  be  lying  somewhere  on 
the  beach,  somewhere  near  where  she  had  fallen.  He  looked 
back;  the  tide  was  coming  up,  there  would  be  no  time  to 
retrace  his  steps  and  return;  he  dared  not  risk  climbing  the 
cliff,  for  his  knees  shook  under  him  and  his  head  swam.  He 
must  leave  it!  But,  oh,  Heaven!  the  terrible  danger  that 
lurked  in  the  discovery  of  that  bundle!  He  made  a  slight 
detour  so  that  he  came  in  from  inland..  Just  as  he  entered 
the  town  a  man  with  a  carrier's  cart  met  him. 

The  man  gave  him  good-night,  and  asked  him  the  time. 
Mordaunt  glanced  at  his  watch  by  the  light  of  the  man's  lan- 
tern,  and  was  about  to  give  him  the  right  time;  then,  with  a 
flash  of  cunning,  he  said  ten,  instead  of  half  past. 

"  Lor'!  I  thought  it  was  later,"  said  the  man. 

"  That's  the  right  time,"  said  Mordaunt,  standing  full  in 
the  light  of  the  lantern  and  forcing  a  smile.  "  Good-night." 

He  went  on  and  reached  the  hotel.  Outside,  he  paused  a 
moment,  and  then  went  round  to  the  billiard-room  which  the 


122  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

enterprising  landlord  had  built  at  the  back.  He  looked  in  at 
the  window;  the  room  was  empty,  the  gas  turned  low.  He 
opened  the  door  stealthily,  and  entering,  stretched  himself  full 
length  upon  one  of  the  settees. 

He  lay  there  for  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  when  the 
billiard-marker  entered. 

"Good-evening,  sir,"  he  said,  turning  up  the  gas. 
didn't  know  any  one  was  here,  Mr.  Sapley. " 

Mordaunt  stretched  himself  and  yawned.  "  I've  been  here 
this  last  hour  or  more/'  he  said,  daringly. 

"  Have  you,  now,  sir?"  said  the  marker.  "  I  am  very 
sorry.  I've  been  busy  in  the  bar.  And  you've  been  waiting 
for  a  game  all  this  time?" 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  said  Mordaunt;  "  I  just  came  over 
for  the  walk;  came  along  the  turnpike  road,  and,  feeling 
rather  tired,  I  fell  asleep." 

"  You  do  look  rather  done  up,  sir,"  said  the  marker. 

Mordaunt  edged  along  the  settee,  out  of  the  light  of  the 
billiard  lamp. 

"  That's  your  fancy,"  he  said,  sharply.  "  I  never  felt 
better  in  my  life.  Get  me  a  glass  of  brandy." 

Immediately  the  man  had  left  the  room,  Mordaunt  sprung 
upon  the  settee  and  put  the  clock  above  his  head  half  an  hour 
behind  time.  It  was  an  irregular  clock  at  the  best  of  times, 
as  he  knew  well;  but  it  would  serve  his  purpose;  at  any  rate, 
it  would  set  up  a  doubt;  and  a  doubt  saves  where  murder  is 
concerned.  He  had  raced  along  from  the  beach;  the  car- 
rier's evidence,  the  time  by  the  billiard-room  clock,  would 
serve  to  set  up  an  alibi. 

The  man  came  back  with  the  brandy,  and  Mordaunt,  with 
his  back  to  him,  only  pretended  to  put  in  the  water,  and 
drank  the  spirit  neat.  He  had  a  fifty  game  with  the  marker, 
and  strove  every  nerve  to  win  it — and  did  so,  another  point 
in  his  favor.  What  murderer  would  come  red-handed  from 
his  deed  of  blood  and  win  a  game  from  the  marker? 

He  talked  and  laughed  more  than  usual,  and  when  the  game 
was  over  went  and  lolled  against  the  bar,  chaffing  the  bar- 
maid, while  he  drank  some  more  brandy. 

*'  You've  got  a  long  walk,  Mr.  Sapley,"  she  said.  "  You'd 
better  let  us  get  the  gig  for  you." 

But  he  refused  the  offer.  "  I  shall  enjoy  the  walk,"  he 
said.  "  I've  been  resting  here  nearly  a  couple  of  hours." 

He  lighted  a  cigar,  and  left  the  hotel  with  a  laugh  on  his 
lips.  As  he  walked  along  he  felt  strangely  excited.  He  had 
drunk  the  first  lot  of  brandy  neat,  and  had  taken  very  little 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  123 

water  with  the  others,  and,  not  being  accustomed  to  raw 
spirits,  they  had  taken  effect  upon  him.  After  all,  as  he  told 
himself  as  he  walked  along,  things  were  not  so  bad.  It  wasn't 
murder,  come  to  consider  it  coolly.  She  had  edged  toward 
the  cliff  of  her  own  accord;  he  had  only  let  go  of  her  arms. 
And  he  was  free  of  her!  She  had  been  a  stumbling-block  in 
his  path,  a  standing  menace.  No  one  would  find  her,  and  if 
they  did,  no  one  would  suspect  him,  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley,  a 
'Varsity  man,  of  such  a  vulgar  crime.  He  began  to  whistle, 
but  presently  the  whistle  died  away.  Exhaustion  was  coming 
upon  him.  He  had  gone  through  enough  that  night  to  drive 
even  a  strong-minded  man  into  a  lunatic  asylum.  When  he 
reached  the  house  he  was  limp  and  trembling.  As  he  opened 
the  door  his  father  came  into  the  passage.  The  sight  of  him 
gave  Mordaunt  a  turn;  he  had  not  expected  him  back  for  a 
couple  of  days. 

'^Is  that  you,  Mordy?"  asked  Mr.  Sapley.  "  You're  very 
late." 

"  I  am,  rather,"  said  Mordaunt,  trying  to  speak  with  his 
affected  drawl. 

Mr.  Sapley  looked  at  him  as  he  followed  into  the  parlor. 

"  What's  the  matter?"  he  asked,  bending  his  brows. 

"  Matter?"  said  Mordaunt,  thickly,  and  with  a  ghastly 
attempt  at  a  smile;  the  light  and  the  heat  of  the  stuffy  room 
made  him  reel.  "  Nothing.  What  should  be  the  matter?" 

Mr.  Sapley  peered  at  him.  "  You  look  queer,"  he  said. 
"  Where  have  yon  been?" 

Mordaunt  had  hoped  to  reach  his  room  unseen;  this  unex- 
pected meeting  with  his  father  and  his  questioning  unnerved 
him. 

"  I've  been  to  Thraxton  for  a  game  of  billiards,"  he  said. 
"  Beaten  the  marker,  too.  I've  been  there  since  nine  o'clock. 
I  say,  since  nine  o'clock!" 

Old  Sapley  eyed  him  keenly.  "  You've  been  drinking," 
he  said. 

Mordaunt  laughed  unsteadily.  He  welcomed  the  accusa- 
tion. 

"I've  had  a  glass  or  two,"  he  said.  "  The  hotel  liquor  is 
thundering  bad,  and  I  fancy  it's  got  into  my  head.  Is  there 
any  soda  water  here?"  He  went  to  the  sideboard,  staggering 
slightly,  and  got  a  syphon.  "  I  didn't  expect  you  back  so 
soon." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Sapley.  "  But  I  got  my  business  done 
quicker  than  I  thought.  I  was  just  in  time  to  sell  out  of  that 
company.  It  went  smash  the  next  day.  No  end  of  people 


124  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGNA. 

ruined  over  that  business.  Mostly  clergymen  and  widows  and 
people  of  that  kind,  I  can't  think  how  people  can  be  such 
fools  to  put  their  money  into  such  concerns;  but  they  always 
do."  He  rubbed  his  chin,  and  his  lips  twisted  into  a  smile. 
"  I  made  a  good  thing  out  of  that!  Feel  better  now?  It  isn't 
like  you  to  take  too  much,  Mordy." 

Mordaunt  got  the  brandy  decanter  and  poured  out  a  liberal 
quantity. 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right,"  he  said;  "  what  were  you  saying?" 

"I  was  saying  that  luck  seemed  to  be  standing  fast  by 
me,"  said  old  Sapley,  taking  some  papers  from  his  pocket  and 
turning  them  over,  "  and  while  luck's  with  you,  then  is  the 
time  to  strike  out.  How  have  you  been  getting  on  with  Miss 
Sartoris?"  He  cast  a  shrewd  glance  at  Mordauut,  who  sat 
with  his  head  resting  on  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Mordaunt,  with  a  laugh  and  a  hic- 
cough. "  She's  been  very  friendly  with  me — quite  chummy. 
I  gave  her  a  flower  the  other  day,  and  she  took  it  as  if  she 
liked  it." 

Mr.  Sapley  stretched  his  mouth  into  a  grin  of  satisfaction. 
"  She  did,  did  she?"  he  said.  "  That's  right,  Mordy!  You 
stick  to  it.  Keep  on  paying  her  little  attentions  and  going 
on  the  humble  and  respectful  dodge  as  I  advised  you;  there's 
nothing  gets  over  a  woman  like  that.  1  know  them!  And 
when  the  time's  ripe — strike!  Don't  you  be  afraid — take 
example  by  me — I've  never  been  afraid  to  seize  my  luck  when 
I  saw  it  lying  within  my  grasp.  Remember  that  I'm  at  the 
back  of  you!" 

Mordaunt  looked  up  at  him  hazily.  "  This  isn't  the  first 
time  you've  hinted  at  some  kind  of  power  you've  got  over 
Miss  Sartoris,  guv'nor.  What  does  it  mean?" 

Mr.  Sapley's  expression  changed  at  once  to  one  of  cunning 
cautiousness. 

"  Never  you  mind,"  he  said,  pursing  his  lips  and  nodding 
with  a  kind  of  grim  self-satisfaction.  "  You  do  your  part 
and  I'll  do  mine.  Your  part's  the  love-making,  and  with 
your  education  and  the  rest  of  it,  you  ought  to  be  able  to  do 
it  well  enough,  or  what  was  the  use  of  my  sending  you  to  col- 
lege. But  look  here,  Mordy,"  he  went  on  more  gravely, 
"there  must  be  no  more  of  this  kind  of  thing!  You  must 
keep  off  the  drink.  And  there  must  be  no  philandering  with 
any  other  girl.  I've  heard  that  you've  been  seen  once  or 
twice  with  that  girl  of  old  Hawker's— what's  her  name? 
Lucy—" 


THE  MISTEESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  125 

Mordaunt's  face  went  white,  and  then  crimson,  and  he 
started  to  his  feet,  clutching  the  table. 

"  Who  says  that?"  he  demanded,  shrilly.  "  It's  a  lie! 
It's  ad dliel" 

Mr.  Sapley  was  startled  at  his  vehemence,  and  the  two 
looked  at  each  other  across  the  table  in  silence  for  a  moment, 
then  old  Sapley  said,  almost  apologetically: 

"  All  right,  Mordy;  there's  no  need  to  get  into  a  fury.  I 
only  tell  you  what  I've  heard,  and  remind  you  that  you've 
got  to  be  cautious.  There's  nothing  a  woman  will  forgive 
sooner  than  a  man  fooling  about  another  woman.  But  if  you 
say  there's  nothing  in  it,  why,  there  isn't,  and  I'm  satisfied." 

"  There  isn't,"  said  Mordaunt,  sullenly,  and  covertly 
moistening  his  lips,  which  were  dry  and  burning.  "  The  girl's 
nothing  to  me;  I've  scarcely  spoken  to  her — not  more  than 
any  other  girl  in  the  place!  What  do  you  mean?"  As  he 
spoke,  he  stretched  out  his  hand  for  the  spirit  decanter;  but 
his  father  seized  his  arm. 

"  All  right,  all  right,  Mordy,"  he  said,  soothingly.  "  You've 
had  enough  for  to-night;  let  the  brandy  alone,  and  go  to  bed." 

Mordaunt's  hands  fell  limply  on  the  table.  "  Perhaps 
you're  right,"  he  said,  with  a  shaky  laugh,  and  with  uncertain 
steps  he  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

WHEN"  Claire  came  down  to  breakfast  the  next  morning  she 
was  rather  paler  than  usual,  and  there  were  dark  shadows 
under  her  eyes. 

"  You  are  not  looking  well,  dear,  this  morning/'  said  Mrs. 
Lexton,  with  tender  solicitude. 

"  I  have  had  a  bad  night,"  said  Claire,  quietly.  "  1  shall 
be  all  right  when  we've  had  a  drive." 

The  night  had  been  altogether  a  sleepless  one  for  her.  The 
doubts  which  always  follow  decisive  action  had  assailed  her 
through  the  silent  hours  of  the  night.  After  all,  had  she  been 
just  to  Gerald?  Her  love  for  him  took  up  arms  and  fought 
in  his  behalf.  Had  she  any  right  to  doubt  his  love,  to  send 
him  away  with  that  curt  "  No,"  because  of  a  flirtation  which, 
perhaps,  was  quite  innocent  and  harmless?  Very  probably 
Lucy  had  thrown  herself  in.  his  way,  and  he  had  meant 
nothing  more  than  that  kind  of  friendliness  which  a  man  of 
the  world  would  extend  to  a  simple  village  girl.  Something 
within  her  championed  Gerald's  cause  and  made  her  think 
that  she  had  been  needlessly  cruel,  both  to  him  and  herself. 


12(]  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

His  words  rang  in  her  ears  with  the  accents  of  truth,  and  sha 
almost  regretted  bitterly  her  refusal  of  him. 

But  regrets  were  futile  now.  He  was  too  proud  to  repeat 
his  offer  of  love;  he  would  avoid  her  while  he  was  compelled 
to  remain  at  Kegna,  and  then  pass  from  her  life  forever! 

It  is  scarcely  too  much  to  say  that  if  Gerald  had  presented 
himself  that  morning  she  would  have  confessed  her  love  and 
refrained  even  from  asking  for  an  explanation. 

After  breakfast  the  carriage  was  ordered  for  a  long  drive  to 
a  distant  farm,  and  Claire  was  waiting  on  the  terrace,  with 
her  head  resting  on  her  hand  and  her  eyes  fixed  dreamily  on 
the  sea,  across  which  Gerald  was  at  this  moment  sailing,  when 
Lee  passed  close  below  her.  He  touched  his  hat,  and  then 
stopped. 

Claire  roused  herself,  and  wished  him  good-morning. 

"  Good-morning,  miss,"  said  Lee,  respectfully  and  hesitat- 
ingly. "  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Wayre  this  morning,  miss?" 

The  color  rose  to  Claire's  face  for  a  moment.  "  No,"  she 
said. 

"  I  asked,  miss,  because  1  wanted  to  see  him,  and  1  didn't 
know  whether  he'd  be  here  this  morning." 

"  Why  not?"  asked  Claire,  trying  to  speak  indifferently. 

"  Well,  miss,"  said  Lee,  "  Mr.  Wayre  was  looking  very 
knocked  up  last  night — quite  ill,  as  you  may  say,  and  I  made 
so  bold  as  to  advise  him  to  take  a  holiday." 

Claire  averted  her  face.  "  Perhaps  he  has  done  so,"  she 
said,  coldly. 

"  I'm  thinking  he  may  have  done  so,  miss,"  he  said,  "  see- 
ing as  he's  not  here.  He's  generally  first  on  the  works.  I 
shouldn't  want  to  trouble  him,"  he  went  on,  shyly,  "  but  I've 
lost  one  of  the  plans.  He  may  have  taken  it  with  him  by 
mistake;  I  think  I'll  walk  down  to  the  cottage.  Good- 
morning,  miss." 

Claire's  heart  sunk.     Had  he  gone  away  already? 

The  carriage  came  round,  and  they  started  for  their  drive. 
Claire  was  very  silent  for  a  time;  then,  as  she  felt  that  Mrs. 
Lexton  was  watching  her  anxiously,  she  roused  herself  and 
assumed  a  cheerfulness  she  was  far  from  feeling.  It  seemed 
as  if  something  had  gone  out  of  her  life,  as  if  the  brightness 
which  had  of  late  warmed  and  illuminated  it  had  become 
overclouded. 

They  stayed  for  some  little  time  at  the  farm,  and  Claire 
proposed  that  they  should  go  home  another  way,  which  would 
take  them  through  Regna.  She  would  not  have  admitted  to 
herself  that  her  reason  for  doing  so  was  her  desire  to  learn  if 


127 

Gerald  had  gone.  As  they  drove  along  the  road  above  the 
Hawkers'  cottage  they  saw  a  small  group  of  persons  on  the 
terrace  talking  together  with  evident  signs  of  excitement. 
Amongst  them  Claire  discerned  Lee. 

"  Something  seems  to  be  the  matter,  Claire,"  said  Mrs. 
Lexton.  "  Oh,  dear,  I  hope  it  isn't  an  accident." 

Claire  stopped  the  carriage.  "  We  will  go  down  and  see," 
she  said. 

As  they  approached  the  cottage,  the  group  became  silent, 
and  touching  their  hats,  looked  awkward  and  constrained. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter?"  asked  Claire. 

"  Well,  we  don't  rightly  know,  miss,"  said  a  fisherman. 
"  There's  something  wrong  in  there;"  and  he  jerked  his  head 
toward  the  cottage. 

"  Something  wrong?  Some  one  ill?"  asked  Claire.  "  Who 
is  it?" 

"  It's  Miss  Lucy,  miss,"  said  the  man. 

"  Lucy  ill!"  said  Claire;  and  she  hastened  to  the  cottage. 

The  door  was  open,  and  she  entered.  Old  Hawker  was 
sitting  at  the  table,  with  his  head  bowed  upon  his  hands.  He 
looked  up,  and  his  face  struck  Claire  with  a  foreboding  of 
some  great  trouble. 

"  Oh,  what  is  the  matter,  Captain  Hawker?"  she  asked. 

He  rose,  leaning  heavily  on  the  table.  "  It's  my  geli, 
Lucy,  miss,"  he  said,  hoarsely. 

"  Lucy?    What  is  wrong  with  her?"  asked  Claire. 

"  She's  gone!"  said  the  old  man,  brokenly. 

"  Gone?"  repeated  Claire. 

"  Yes,  miss,"  he  said,  huskily.  "  She's  left  me!  My  gell 
Lucy!" 

Claire  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  she  said:  "  Try 
and  tell  me  all  about  it,  Captain  Hawker.  Perhaps  you  are 
distressing  yourself  without  cause." 

The  old  man  shook  his  head.  "  No,  miss.  She's  gone- 
right  enough!  Gone  without  a  word!" 

''  When  did  she  go?"  asked  Claire. 

"  Last  night,"  he  said,  hoarsely.     "  Without  a  word!" 

"  But  there  may  be  no  cause  for  alarm,"  said  Claire, 
soothingly.  "  She  may  have  gone  to  pay  a  visit  to  some 
friend,  and  been  detained — remained  the  night.  She  will  be 
here  presently. " 

The  old  man  tried  to  accept  the  encouragement,  but  shook 
his  head  and  groaned. 

"  Where  could  she  have  gone,  miss?"  he  said.  "  She 
could  have  sent  word,  or  would  have  been  back  early  this 


3gg  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

morning.  No,  miss,  she's  left  me!  Last  nights  she  took 
some  things— clothes— with  her,  and  stole  away.  I  shall 
never  see  her  again!" 

"  Oh,  why  should  you  think  that?"  said  Claire. 

"  It's  borne  home  upon  me,  miss!"  he  said.  "  I  know  it 
as  certain  as  if  I  saw  her  dead  this  very  moment. "  He  sunk 
into  the  chair  and  hid  his  face  with  his  huge  rough  hands. 
Then  he  let  them  fall,  and  looked  out  of  the  window  with 
stolid  despair.  "  I've  noticed  a  change  in  her  for  some  tiino 
past,  miss,"  he  said.  "  She  was  nervous  and  timid  like, 
sometimes  moping,  and  sometimes  wild  and  gay  like.  I've 
noticed  it!" 

*'  Where  do  you  think  she  has  gone?"  asked  Claire. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Do  not  despair,"  said  Claire.  "  Perhaps  you'll  hear 
from  her  by  this  very  next  post,  explaining  everything." 

"  No,  miss,"  he  said,  almost  inaudibly.  "  She'll  be  too 
'shamed  to  write!" 

"  Ashamed?"  echoed  Claire. 

"  Yes,  miss,"  he  said,  huskily.     "  She's  not  gone  alone." 

"  Not  gone  alone?"  said  Claire,  with  a  vague  presentiment 
of  what  was  coming. 

"  No,  miss.     She's  gone  with  him — curse  him!" 

Claire's  eyes  asked  with  whom;  her  lips  refused  to  frame 
the  question. 

"  With  Mr.  Wayre!"  said  the  old  man. 

Claire  caught  the  edge  of  the  table,  for  a  sudden  faintness 
assailed  her. 

"  Oh,  no,  no!"  she  breathed.     "  Not  with  him!" 

"  Ay,  you  may  well  be  took  back,  miss,"  he  said,  bitterly. 
"  He's  deceived  us  all.  I  thought  him  as  holiest  and  open  as 
the  day — a  true  gentleman.  But  he's  proved  himself  a 
villain!" 

"  No,  no!"  said  Claire.  "  It  is  not  true.  You  have  no 
right — "  Her  heart  revolted  against  the  accusation.  That 
the  man  who  stood  before  her  but  a  few  hours  since  could  be 
guilty  of  the  mean  betrayal  of  an  innocent  girl  seemed  pre- 
posterous and  impossible!  She  controlled  herself  by  a  great 
effort.  "  There  is  some  mistake!"  she  said,  almost  calmly. 

"  I  do  not  know  very  much  of  Mr.  Wayre,"  her  lips  trem- 
bled, "  but  I  know  he  is  incapable  of  doing  what  you  suspect." 
'  There's  no  mistake,  miss,"  said  the  old  man,  shaking  his 
head.  "  He  left  last  night,  too,  and  without  a  word.  Why 
should  he  go,  and  at  the  same  time,  and  so  suddenly?  He 
wasn't  thinking  of  going.  He  oulv  waited  to  take  a  few 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  129 

things  in  a  bag;  the  room's  all  untidy,  and  littered  as  he 
threw  the  things  about." 

Claire  sunk  into  a  chair.  A  sudden  weakness  seemed  to 
have  fallen  upon  her.  "  1  can  not  believe  it!1'  she  mur- 
mured, more  to  herself  than  to  him. 

"  It  is  impossible!"  whispered  Mrs.  Lexton,  who  had  been 
standing  inside  the  door.  She  was  almost  as  moved  as  Claire, 
for  she  had  taken  a  great  liking  to  Gerald,  and  had  even  less 
cause  to  suspect  him  than  Claire  had. 

The  old  man  shook  his  head  again.  "  Ay,  so  any  one  would 
have  said,  mum,"  he  said.  "But  there's  other  things 
besides  his  going  so  suddenly  and  at  the  same  time.  He  and 
Lucy  have  been  seen  together,  walking  alone  at  night,  and  in 
out-of-the-way  places.  Folks  can  tell  you — now  it's  too  late!" 
he  added,  bitterly. 

"  They  was  always  together,"  said  a  woman  amongst  the 
group  outside  the  door.  "  I  see  'em  last  night!"  As  she 
spoke,  Mr.  Sapley  pushed  his  way  through. 

"  What's  this  I  hear?"  he  began;  then  he  saw  Claire,  and 
removed  his  hat.  Close  behind  him  followed  Mordaunt.  He 
was  looking  haggard,  and  just  as  a  man  does  after  a  night's 
heavy  drinking.  He  would  have  given  all  he  possessed  to 
have  been  able  to  keep  away  from  the  village;  but  he  could 
not.  Something  seemed  to  draw  him  toward  it;  a  loathsome 
craving  to  learn  what  effect  Lucy's  disappearance  had  created, 
and  how  the  village  folks  would  explain  her  sudden  and  unex- 
pected absence. 

He  did  not  enter  the  room,  but  stood  just  outside  the  door, 
trying  to  call  a  little  color  into  his  cheeks,  and  to  assume  an 
air  of  benevolent  interest. 

Old  Sapley  listened  with  bent  brows  to  old  Hawker's  story, 
and  Mordaunt,  as  he,  too,  listened,  felt  a  sudden  thrill  of 
malignant  satisfaction  which  at  last  sent  the  desired  color  to 
his  cheeks. 

"Gone  off  with  Miss  Lucy!"  said  old  Sapley,  grimly. 
"  That's  a  bad  business!" 

A  sudden  inspiration  fell  upon  Mordaunt — one  of  those 
inspirations  which  often  come  to  the  criminal  whose  brain  is 
sharpened  by  mingled  fear  and  cunning.  He  stepped  inside 
the  room. 

"  I  don't  believe  it!"  he  said,  quite  warmly.  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Miss  Sartoris.  Perhaps  I've  no  right  to  express  an 
opinion,  as  I  don't  know  all  the  circumstances  of  the  case; 
but  I  can't  help  saying  that  I  don't  believe  it!" 

6 


130  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

CJaire  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  at  him  with  a  sudden 
hope.    He  caught  the  glance,  and  followed  up  his  happy  idea. 


don't  think  Mr.  Wayre  would  be  guilty  of  this  that  is  laid  to 
his  charge." 

Claire's  lips  moved.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  his  face. 
She  felt  grateful  to  him.  Knowing  as  she  did  of  his  en- 
counter with  Gerald  on  the  night  of  his  arrival,  his  conduct 
in  standing  up  for  the  absent  man  seemed  to  her  mag- 
nanimous to  a  degree.  Mordaunt  understood  the  expression 
in  her  eyes,  and  his  heart  warmed  as  if  he  were  actually  as 
noble  as  he  seemed. 

"  Mr.  Wayre  was  a  gentleman,"  he  said.  "  He  had  his 
faults,  like  most  of  us,  but  I  am  sure  that  he  was  incapable 
of  such  baseness  as  this.  It's  true  that  we  don't  know  very 
much  about  him,  but  one  can  read  a  man's  character  pretty 
correctly,  even  after  a  short  acquaintance,  and,  as  1  have  said, 
you  will  find  that  Mr.  Wayre  knows  nothing  whatever  of  this 
business,  and  is  in  no  way  connected  with  Miss  Lucy's  disap- 
pearance." 

Claire  rose.  "  Thank  you,"  she  sajd,  almost  inaudibly. 
"  Mr.  Wayre  will  himself  thank  you  when  he  returns." 

Poor  old  Hawker  shook  his  head.  "  He  won't  come 
back!"  he  said  in  a  kind  of  stupor.  "  He's  been  seen  with 
her;  he's  taken  her  away  from  me!" 

"  Who  has  seen  Mr.  Wayre  with  her?"  asked  Mordaunt, 
turning  upon  the  group  at  the  door. 

There  was  an  awkward  silence  for  a  moment  or  two,  then 
the  woman  who  had  spoken  before,  said,  half  sullenly:  "  I've 
seen  'em,  and  there's  several  more  as  'ev  seen  'em;  Jenks  for 
one."  And  she  turned  appealingly  to  Jenks,  the  coastguard. 
He  had  been  standing  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd,  smoking  his 
pipe,  with  his  hands  thrust  deep  into  his  pockets,  and  with  an 
air  of  not  desiring  to  take  any  part  in  the  discussion.  The 
man  had  rather  a  sharp,  hatchet-shaped  face,  with  small, 
shifty  eyes,  and  these  eyes  had  been  watching  Mr.  Mordaunt 
as  that  gentleman  spoke  in  Gerald's  defense.  Appealed  to 
now  by  the  woman,  and  with  every  eye  upon  him,  he  moved 
uneasily,  and  without  taking  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  mut- 
tered, reluctantly: 

"  Yes,  I've  seen  'em!" 

Mordaunt  looked  at  kirn.     "  When?"  he  asked. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  131 

"  The  other  night,  on  the  cliff  path/'  said  Jenks,  without 
raising  his  eyes. 

Mordaunt  seemed  staggered  for  a  moment  at  this  combined 
testimony;  then  he  said,  boldly:  "  Bat  what  does  all  this 
prove?  Nothing!  Snrely  a  gentleman  may  be  seen  talking 
to  a  well-conducted  girl  like  Lucy  Hawker  without  being  sus- 
pected of  any  evil  designs!  Why,  any  one  of  us,  under  such 
jircumstances,  may  easily  lay  ourselves  open  to  a  similar 
charge,  if  the  mere  fact  of  being  seen  with  a  person  of  the 
opposite  sex  is  considered  sufficient  cause  for  suspicion." 

Mr.  Sapley,  who  had  been  regarding  his  son  with  covert 
surprise — for  he  knew  that  Mordaunt  hated  Gerald — mut- 
tered: "  I  ought  to  have  sent  him  to  the  Bar!"  Then  he 
said,  aloud: 

"  It  seems  to  me  we're  wasting  time.  The  girl  can't  have 
gone  far.  It  ought  not  to  be  difficult  to  trace  her;  she  would 
be  seen  and  recognized  at  Thraxton  Station,  and  we  could 
telegraph  and  put  the  police  on  her  track. " 

"  I'll  have  no  perlice  set  on  my  gell!"  said  old  Hawker, 
with  sudden  vehemence. 

His  father's  speech  had  driven  the  color  from  Mordaunt's 
face.  It  was  from  such  practical  minds  as  that  of  his  father 
he  had  most  to  fear. 

"  Captain  Hawker  is  quite  right,"  he  said.  "  1  can  quite 
understand  his  feelings.  Publicity  must — er — be — avoided  as 
much  as  possible.  We  must  study  Captain  Hawker's  feel- 
ings." 

Old  Sapley  knit  his  brows  and  looked  at  his  son  in  aston- 
ishment. He  was  coming  out  in  quite  a  new  character.  Mr. 
Sapley  could  scarcely  repress  a  grin. 

"  What  should  you  advise,  Mordaunt?"  he  said,  half  mock- 
ingly- 

"  Inquiries  must  be  made,  of  course/'  said  Mordaunt,  "  and 
if  Captain  Hawker  will  permit  me,  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  what 
I  can.  I  will  go  down  to  Thraxton;  I  will  ride  to  the  junc- 
tion and  wire  inquiries." 

"  They  may  have  crossed  the  Channel  from  here  or  from 
the  next  port,"  suggested  old  Sapley,  showing  by  the  "  they  " 
that  he,  at  any  rate,  believed  Gerald  guilty. 

"  She  may!"  admitted  Mordaunt.  "  In  that  case,  I  fear 
pursuit  will  be  almost  hopeless." 

"  She's  gone  with  him!"  muttered  old  Hawker,  brokenly. 

"  I  will  go  at  once,"  said  Mordaunt.  "  One  of  you  go  up 
to  the  house  and  bring  my  horse." 

A  barefooted  boy,  delighted  with  the  errand,  darted  off. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT 

Claire  rose  and  laid  her  hand — it  trembled — upon  the  old 
man's  shoulder.  "  Do  not  lose  all  hope,"  she  said,  pityingly. 
"  Mr.  Mordaunt  will  make  inquiries  at  once.  He  will  be  sure 
to  find  her.  No  one  in  these  days  of  the  telegraph  can  dis- 
appear without  being  traced." 

"  God  bless  you,  miss!"  said  the  old  man.  "  But  I  know 
it's  of  no  use.  I  shall  never  see  her  again!" 

Claire  went  outside.  Mr.  Mordaunt  was  standing  talking 
to  the  group,  and  he  turned  to  her  at  once. 

"  Let  me  take  you  to  your  carriage,  Miss  Sartoris?"  he 
said.  His  tone  was  quite  different  to  his  usual  one;  all  the 
foolish  affectation  was  gone  out  of  him.  Strange  as  it  may 
seem,  his  crime  and  the  terrible  danger  in  which  he  stood 
had  almost  made  a  man  of  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley.  Life  had 
become  a  fearfully  serious  thing  for  him,  and  his  foolish 
Oxford  tricks  of  speech  and  manner  were  cast  from  him. 

As  they  walked  to  the  carriage  Claire  said  in  a  low  voice: 
"  You  have  behaved  very  nobly  this  morning,  Mr.  Mordaunt. 
You  have  stood  up  in  defense  of  one  who,  being  absent,  is 
unable  to  defend  himself." 

The  blood  shot  to  Mordaunt' s  face.  What  a  lucky  idea 
that  was  of  his!  "I  only  said  what  I  thought,"  he  said. 
"  I  do  not  think  Mr.  Wayre  guilty." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Claire,  trying  to  control  her  voice,  "  though 
circumstances — " 

"  Circumstantial  evidence  should  never  be  relied  upon,  or 
hardly  ever,"  he  said.  "  Many  an  innocent  man  has  been 
hung  upon  it.  But  even  supposing  that  Mr.  Wayre  has  gone 
off  with  Lucy  Hawker,  it  doesn't  follow  that  he  intends  to  do 
her  a  wrong." 

Claire  had  entered  the  carriage,  and  she  turned  her  face  to 
him  with  parted  lips. 

"  I  mean,"  he  said,  "  that  he  may  marry  her.  Why  not? 
She  is,  I  believe,  an  extremely  nice  girl,  rather  above  her 
station,  and  Mr.  Wayre  may  consider  her  quit  fit  to  be  his 
wife." 

Claire  said  nothing,  but  drew  her  veil  over  her  face. 

"  May  I  come  and  tell  you  the  result  of  my  inquiries,  Miss 
Sartoris;  you  would  like  to  hear?" 

'  Thank  you.     If  you  please—    Yes;  I  shall  be  glad." 

The  carriage  drove  away.  When  it  had  gone,  the  reaction 
set  in  upon  Mordaunt.  The  flush  that  the  excitement  of 
playing  his  part  had  caused  died  away,  and  his  face  resumed 
its  worn  and  haggard  appearance.  What  a  terrible  path  he 
was  treading?  He  was  like  a  man  walking  on  the  edge  of  a 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGKA.  133 

volcano.  And  yet  what  had  he  to  fear?  Fate  seemed  to  have 
come  to  his  assistance.  That  Gerald  Way  re  should  have  dis- 
appeared so  suddenly  and  without  cause  was  providential  for 
him,  Mordaunt.  It  was  true  that  Wayre  might  return  at  any 
moment;  but,  at  any  rate,  time  was  gained.  Who  knew; 
Fate  might  stand  by  him  still!  At  any  rate,  he  held  the 
threads  of  the  tangled  web  in  his  hand.  If  he  could  hide  his 
guilty  secret,  could  keep  Gerald  Wayre  from  returning  and 
proving  his  innocence,  he  might  follow  up  the  steps  he  had 
gained  in  Miss  Sartoris's  favor.  For  a  moment  or  two  his 
dread  gave  way  to  the  nattering  unction  of  ambition.  Lucy 
out  of  the  way,  he  was  free  to  win  the  good -will  of  the  mis- 
tress of  Court  Eegna. 

The  boy  came  clattering  down  the  road  with  his  horse. 
Mordaunt  gave  him  a  shilling,  and  mounting,  rode  quickly 
toward  Thraxton.  As  he  came  to  the  bend  of  the  road,  lead- 
ing to  Begna,  a  figure  stepped  out  from  the  side  path  and 
stood  in  his  way.  It  was  Jenks,  the  coastguard. 

Mordaunt  was  riding  past,  but  something  in  the  man's  face 
arrested  him,  and  he  pulled  up. 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  Jenks?"  he  asked,  impatiently.  "  Has 
anything  further  been  discovered?" 

Jenks  looked  at  the  empty  pipe  he  held  in  his  hand,  and 
shook  his  head. 

"  Not  as  I  knows  of,  sir,"  he  said,  still  keeping  his  eyes  on 
his  pipe.  "  I  was  only  going  to  ask  your  honor  for  a  bit  o' 
'bacca!" 

Mordaunt's  face  flushed  angrily.  "  Is  this  a  time  to  stop 
me  on  such  an  excuse?"  he  said,  hotly.  "  You're  always 
begging  for  tobaccol" 

Jenks  still  looked  at  his  pipe  impassively. 

"  No  offense,  sir,"  he  said.  "  I'm  a  poor  man,  and  'bacca 
costs  a  deal  o'  money." 

Mordaunt  swore  at  him  again.  "  I  haven't  any,"  he  said. 
"  Get  out  of  my  way!" 

Jenks  did  not  move.  He  stood  right  in  front  of  the  horse, 
and  looked  as  if  he  meant  to  lay  hold  of  the  bridle. 

"  Perhaps  yer  honor'll  give  me  the  price  of  a  pipe?"  he 
said. 

As  he  spoke,  he  raised  his  shifty  eyes  with  a  peculiar  expres- 
sion to  Mordaunt's  face.  Mordaunt  went  scarlet  with  anger, 
and  his  lips  parted  with  another  oath;  but  something  in  the 
man's  small  eyes — was  it  a  menace? — struck  Mordaunt  dumb. 
The  color  left  his  face,  and  he  sat  like  a  man  under  a  epelL 


134  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGKA. 

A  sudden  fear,  springing  from  whence  he  knew  not,  cramped 
his  heart. 

"Confound  you!"  he  said;  "you  are  a  confirmed  beg- 
gar V 

He  took  a  coin  from  his  pocket,  scarcely  conscious  that  it 
was  a  sovereign,  and  flung  it  to  the  ground,  and  rode  on, 
cursing  himself  for  a  fool. for  being  frightened  at  a  man's 
glance. 

Jenks  picked  up  the  coin  and  looked  over  his  shoulder  at  the 
retreating  horseman,  with  a  strange  smile.  "  You're  a  bold 
'un!"  he  muttered. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THERE  was  very  little  work  done  in  Regna  for  the  remainder 
of  that  day.  The  people  stood  about  in  groups  discussing 
Lucy's  disappearance  with  mingled  sorrow  and  indignation; 
for  the  Hawkers  were  old  inhabitants  and  very  much  re- 
spected, and  Lucy  herself  had  been  the  acknowledged  belle  of 
the  place.  Of  course,  the  women  blamed  her,  while  the  men 
freely  cursed  Gerald;  and  not  one  of  them  had  the  least  sus- 
picion of  the  real  criminal.  By  some  it  was  thought  that 
Lucy  was  too  good  a  girl  to  be  led  astray,  and  that  she  was 
either  already  secretly  married,  or  that  Gerald  would  marry 
her  at  the  earliest  opportunity;  Mordannt  Sapley's  boldly 
declared  opinion  naturally  carried  some  weight. 

But  old  Hawker  refused  to  be  comforted,  and  was  still 
firmly  convinced  that  he  should  never  see  Lucy  again.  There 
was  a  good  deal  of  pride  about  Regna;  it  was  a  little  place  by 
itself,  full  of  a  certain  independence  and  jealous  of  its  reputa- 
tion, and  it  was  unanimously  agreed  that  the  scandal  should 
be  hushed  up  as  closely  as  possible;  so  that  whatever  they 
thought,  they  openly  declared  their  belief  that  things  would 
turn  out  all  right,  and  that  Lucy  would  return  "  an  honest 
woman." 

Mordaunt  Sapley  did  not  come  back  until  the  next  day.  He 
had  left  his  horse  at  Thraxton  and  had  gone  down  the  line, 
ostensibly  to  make  inquiries.  He  rode  straight  to  the  cottage 
with  his  report,  and  though  he  looked  haggard  and  worn,  as  a 
man  might  be  expected  to  look  who  had  been  traveling  so 
many  hours  without  rest,  he  bore  a  cheerful  and  encouraging 
countenance.  His  reappearance  had  been  noticed,  and  a  small 
group  gathered  round  the  door,  and  he  addressed  them  as 
much  as  the  bereaved  father. 


THE  MISTKESS  OF  COUET  KEGNA.  135 

"You  were  right  and  I  was  wrong,"  he  said,  gravely. 
"  She  has  gone  with  Mr.  Way  re." 

A  murmur  rose,  and  old  Hawker  groaned  and  clinched  his 
hand. 

"  I  traced  them  as  far  as  Welby  Junction,  and  there  I  found 
that  a  gentleman,  answering  to  Mr.  Wayre's  description,  in 
company  with  a  young  girl,  had  taken  tickets  for  London. 
They  failed  to  identify  her  by  my  description,  but  a  porter 
remembered  seeing  the  gentleman  carrying  a  bundle  wrapped 
in  a  large  blue  cotton  apron  or  handkerchief."  He  paused 
and  looked  inquiringly,  and  one  of  the  women  said: 

"  Ay,  that's  Lucy's  right  enough!  She  must  have  wrapped 
her  things  up  in  it." 

Mordaunt  Sapley  moistened  his  lips  covertly.  "  That 
removes  all  doubt,  then,"  he  said.  "  I  could  have  placed  the 
matter  in  the  hands  of  the  police,  but,  as  I  said  yesterday,  I 
did  not  think  it  would  be  well  to  do  so,  and  I  have  communi- 
cated with  a  friend  in  London  with  whom  my  father  does 
business,  and  asked  him  to  make  inquiries.  He  will  spare  no 
expense,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  we  shall  soon  hear  of  the 
fugitive." 

The  listeners  murmured  their  approval,  and  old  Hawker 
stammered  a  few  words  of  gratitude. 

"  I  am  still  confident,"  said  Mordaunt,  as  he  mounted  his 
horse,  "  that  Mr.  Wayre  will  act  honorably  by  your  daughter; 
and  if  he  should  not  have  already  done  so,  we  will  find  some 
means  of  compelling  him.  I  should  advise  you  to  talk  about 
the  matter  as  little  as  possible,  and  to  think  of  her  as 
charitably  as  you  can.  After  all,"  he  concluded,  with  a 
forced  smile,  "  she  is  not  the  only  girl  who  has  run  away  from 
home  and  made  a  secret  marriage." 

Mordaunt  Sapley  was  not  by  any  means  a  favorite;  but  a 
great  many  who  heard  him  felt  convinced  that  he  was  a 
better  sort  of  man  than  they  had  thought  him,  and  they  agreed 
that  he  had  acted  in  this  matter  as  a  true  friend  to  the 
Hawkers  and  to  Kegna  in  general. 

Mordaunt  rode  straight  up  to  the  Court,  feeling  that  his 
dusty,  travel-stained  appearance  would  count  in  his  favor  with 
Miss  Sartoris.  He  was  shown  into  the  library,  and  presently 
'Claire  came  to  him.  He  noticed  that  a  change  had  taken 
place  in  her  appearance  since  he  had  last  seen  her.  She  was 
no  paler  than  usual,  but  there  was  a  set  look  about  her  eyes 
vand  lips  as  if  she  had  suffered  from  the  painful  event,  and  as 
if  she  were  trying  to  subdue  all  signs  of  that  suffering. 

"  I  have  come  up  at  once,  Miss  Sartoris,"  he  said,  "  for  I 


136  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

thought  you  would  like  to  hear  what  news  I  had  as  soon  as 
possible." 

"  Thank  you/'  said  Claire.  She  stood  with  one  hand  rest- 
ing on  the  table,  her  face  turned  toward  the  window,  as  if  she 
felt  strong  enough  to  permit  the  light  to  fall  upon  her  counte- 
nance. No  one  can  describe  what  Claire  had  suffered  during 
these  hours  of  suspense;  but  she  was  not  one  to  wear  her  heart 
upon  her  sleeve,  and  her  natural  pride  had  come  to  her  assist- 
ance in  her  struggle  to  appear  calm  and  unmoved.  Mordaunt 
Sapley,  as  he  glanced  at  her  sideways,  thought  that  she  looked 
almost  imperial,  notwithstanding  the  youthfulness  of  the 
lovely  face  and  the  slimness  of  the  girlish  figure.  Even  at 
that  moment  he  compared  her  with  the  girl  he  had  been 
"  fool  enough  "  to  fancy,  as  he  mentally  put  it,  and  he  won- 
dered how  he  could  ever  have  bestowed  a  thought  upon  Lucy 
Hawker  while  Miss  Sartoris  shone  like  a  star  within  his  ken. 

"  Have  you  discovered  anything?"  asked  Claire. 

He  was  careful  to  repeat,  almost  word  for  word,  what  he 
had  said  at  the  Hawkers'  cottage. 

"  I  regret  that  I  was  wrong  in  expressing  my  belief  in  Mr. 
Wayre'a  innocence,"  he  wound  up.  "  But  1  am  still  con- 
vinced that  Mr.  Wayre  will  act  as  an  honorable  man  and 
marry  the  girl.  Why  he  should  have  persuaded  her  to  fly 
with  him  in  this  clandestine  manner  I  can  not  imagine;  but 
no  doubt  he  will  explain  his  reason  when  he  returns." 

Claire  averted  her  face  slightly,  a  faint  tremor  had  passed 
over  her  lips. 

"  You  think  that  he  will  return?"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

Mordaunt  looked  at  her  with  real  or  affected  surprise. 
"  Will  he  not  be  compelled  to  do  so?"  he  said.  "  There  is 
the  building — " 

Claire  moved  to  the  window.  "  I  should  wish  that  to  be 
stopped  now/'  she  said. 

Mordaunt  Sapley's  heart  leaped  exultingly. 

"  But  the  contract  has  been  entered  into  with  Lee,"  he 
said;  "  the  work  has  been  commenced." 


I  No,  no,  certainly  not,"  assented  Mordaunt.  "It  is 
entirely  a  matter  of  money;  I  will  speak  to  my  father,  and  we 
will  take  steps  to  stop  the  work  immediately.  In  any  case,  it 
would  not  be  well  to  go  on  during  Mr.  Wayre's  absence;  and, 
under  any  circumstances,  we  have  only  to  carry  out  your 
wishes. " 


THE  MISTKESS  OP  COURT  REQKA.  137 

"  Thank  you/'  said  Claire,  turning  to  him,  and  for  the  first 
time  noticing  his  pale  face  and  dusty  condition.  "  Have  you 
not  been  home  yet?  Will  you  not  have  some  wine?" 

He  thanked  her  gratefully,  but  declined.  "  My  father  will 
be  anxious  to  hear  my  report,"  he  said,  "  and  I  will  not  keep 
him  waiting  any  longer." 

"  It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  come  to  the  Court  first,"  said 
Claire. 

He  begged  her  not  to  mention  it,  and  as  he  opened  the  door,, 
he  said,  with  admirably  simulated  sincerity: 

"  Forgive  me,  Miss  Sartoris,  if  I  ask  you  not  to  condemn 
Mr.  Wayre,  but  withhold  your  judgment." 

He  rather  overacted  his  part;  a  slight  color  rose  to  Claire's 
face. 

"  It  can  be  of  very  little  importance,  Mr.  Mordaunt, 
whether  I  condemn  Mr.  Wayre  or  not.  I  trust,  for  Lucy's 
sake,  that  your  opinion  of  him  may  be  a  correct  one/' 

Mordaunt  bowed  himself  out  deferentially,  and  went  for  his 
horse,  which  he  had  sent  round  to  the  stables.  As  he  passed 
through  the  shrubbery  in  which  Mrs.  Burdon's  cottage  was 
hidden,  he  saw  the  old  lady  sitting  on  her  usual  bench  in  the 
sunlight.  He  was  passing  on  with  the  nod  which  Mr.  Mor- 
daunt Sapley  was  in  the  habit  of  throwing  to  his  inferiors, 
when  Mrs.  Burdon  raised  her  head,  and  shading  her  eyes  with 
one  hand,  beckoned  to  him  with  the  other. 

Mordaunt  stopped  reluctantly,  and  regarded  her  with  impa- 
tient contempt. 

"  Have  you  seen  his  lordship  this  morning?"  she  quavered. 

"  What  does  she  mean?"  Mordaunt  asked  of  the  girl  in 
charge  of  the  old  woman.  "  Do  you  mean  Lord  Wharton?" 
he  inquired,  addressing  the  old  woman  and  raising  his  voice. 
"  He's  dead — long  ago." 

"Dead!"  quavered  Mrs.  Burdon,  as  if  appalled.  "Not 
dead?" 

"  Yes,  of  course  he's  dead!"  said  Mordaunt. 

"It  can't  be  true,"  she  muttered,  wringing  her  hands. 
"You're  deceiving  me,  Mr.  Sapley.  I  know  you!  You're 
young  Sapley,  from  Thraxton,  the  new  agent." 

"  You  take  me  for  my  father,"  said  Mordaunt,  angrily. 

"  I  know  you  well  enough,"  she  repeated,  "  and  his  lord- 
ship will  rue  the  day  when  he  put  trust  in  you!" 

Mordaunt  flushed  angrily;  but  before  he  could  speak,  she 
went  on  in  a  trembling  voice:  "Dead!  That  cant  be;  he 
came  to  see  me  a  few  days  ago.  When  was  it?  And  he  was 


138  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

young  and  strong  then,  with  his  young  bride  by  his  sido.  But 
I  mustn't  speak  of  her!" 

"  What's  she  talking  about?"  said  Mordaunt,  impatiently, 
to  the  young  girl. 

She  colored,  and  let  fall  the  piece  of  needle-work  she  held 
in  her  hand.  "  She's  thinking  of  Mr.  Wayre,  sir/'  she  said, 
dropping  a  nervous  courtesy.  "  Nurse  mistook  the  gentle- 
man for  Lord  Wharton." 

Mordaunt  laughed  contemptuously.  "  She's  worse  than 
ever,"  he  said.  "  If  she  gets  any  madder  we  shall  have  to 
shut  her  up."  And  he  walked  away,  leaving  the  old  woman 
to  murmur,  incredulously,  "  Dead?  Dead?" 

By  the  time  Mordaunt  had  reached  home  he  was  feeling 
worn  out,  and  his  father  looked  at  him  curiously  as  he  entered 
the  parlor. 

"  You've  got  back  from  this  wild-goose  chase,  Mordaunt?" 
he  said. 

Mordaunt  dropped  into  a  chair  and  wiped  his  face,  and 
began  to  tell  his  father  just  what  he  had  told  to  the  village 
and  Claire.  Old  Sapley  knit  his  heavy  brows  and  regarded 
him  keenly. 

The  change  that  had  come  over  his  son  was  not  likely  to 
escape  Mr.  Sapley 's  notice.  From  a  mass  of  affectation  and 
self-conceit  Mordaunt  had  suddenly  become  transformed  into 
a  grave  and  serious  man  of  action.  His  father  was  puzzled. 
How  had  the  change  been  wrought? 

"  So  you  have  discovered  that  this  fellow  Wayre  has  been 
fool  enough  to  go  off  with  the  girl?  1  could  have  told  you 
that,  and  saved  you  the  trouble  of  tearing  about  the  country. 
And  why  you  should  take  that  trouble  puzzles  me!"  he  added, 
his  small  eyes  fixed  piercingly  on  Mordaunt's  face. 

Mordaunt  winced,  but  smiled  with  an  affectation  of  cun- 
ning. 

"Miss  Sartoris  was  anxious  to  know  the  truth,"  he  said- 
:*  I  have  just  been  up  to  the  Court  to  tell  her." 

"  Ah!"  muttered  old  Sapley,  as  if  he  saw  light.  "  It  was 
done  to  please  her?  Quite  right!  You  can't  take  too  much 
trouble  in  that  direction,  Mordy." 

Mordaunt  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  He  feared  his  father's 
terrible  keenness  more  than  anything  else. 

"  Miss  Sartoris  wishes  the  work  at  the  Court  to  be  stopped 
at  once,"  he  said,  significantly. 

Mr.  Sapley  nodded  with  keen  approval. 

"  Is  that  so?"  he  said.  "  By  George!  Mordy,  you  seem  to 
have  woke  up  to  some  purpose!  You've  arot  some  brains 


THE  MISTEESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  189 

after  all!  You're  on  the  right  tack.  We'll  have  done  with 
Mr.  Gerald  Wayre  for  a  time,  at  any  rate;  and  I  tell  you 
what,  Mordy,  it's  as  well  that  he  should  be  out  of  the  way. 
I'm  inclined  to  believe  that  you  were  right  in  being  a  little 
jealous  of  him.  She  was  getting  too  thick  with  him.  1  hear 
that  he  dined  at  the  Court  the  night  before  he  left,  and  that 
she  treated  him  like  an  equal;  he  was  singing  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  all  that  kind  of  thing.  This  business  of  old 
Hawker's  girl  has  come  just  in  time;  it  will  teach  her  to  be 
more  careful,  in  future,  how  she  hobnobs  with  strangers  who 
come  from  nobody  knows  where.  I  expect  he'll  get  a  cool 
reception  when  he  comes  back." 

"  He  must  not  come  back!"  said  Mordaunt,  unguardedly. 
"  The  work  is  stopped.  It  must  not  be  recommenced;  at  all 
costs,  Gerald  Wayre  must  be  kept  away." 

His  father  looked  at  him  penetratingly. 

"  Well,  we  shall  see!"  he  said.  "  But  don't  you  be  afraid 
of  Gerald  Wayre,  or  any  one  else.  I've  got  a  trump  card  up 
my  sleeve!" 

Mordaunt  looked  up  as  sharply  as  his  condition  would 
permit. 

"  What's  that?"  he  asked,  eagerly. 

Old  Sapley  nodded  and  chuckled. 

"Never  you  mind,  Mordy!"  he  said;  "you'll  find  out  all 
in  good  time.  You'd  better  go  to  bed,  for  you  look  as  if 
you'd  been  up  for  a  week  instead  of  a  night."  Mordaunt 
obeyed,  again  asking  himself  the  purport  of  his  father's  hint. 
He  went  to  his  room,  threw  himself  upon  the  bed,  with  a 
groan  of  utter  weariness  and  exhaustion.  He  tried  to  tell 
himself  that  all  was  well;  that  not  only  was  his  awful  secret 
safe,  but  that  he  was  taking  long  strides  along  the  path  which 
his  father's  suggestion,  and  his  own  recently  awakened  am- 
bition, was  opening  up  to  him.  He  tried  to  picture  himself 
as  the  master  of  Court  Regna;  but  when  he  fell  asleep  at  last, 
he  saw  Lucy's  white  face,  as  it  had  appeared  to  him  when  he 
covered  it  with  the  sand,  and  the  missing  bundle  floated 
threateningly  through  all  his  feverish  dreams. 

When  he  came  down  to  breakfast  the  next  morning,  the  old 
Mordaunt  Sapley  seemed  to  have  been  left  still  further  behind. 

"  All  right  after  your  night's  rest?"  asked  his  father. 

"  I  am  quite  right/'  said  Mordaunt  in  his  new  tone. 

Old  Sapley  regarded  him  keenly. 

"  In  respect  to  this  business  of  the  building,"  he  said. 
"  I've  been  thinking  it  over,  and  I've  come  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  it  will  be  as  well  if  I  leave  it  as  much  to  you  as 


140  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REQNA. 

possible.  You  make  arrangements  with  Lee — of  course  you 
won't  pay  him  more  than  you  can  help — and  have  the  place 
tidied  up  as  well  as  they  can  do  it.  I'll  hand  over  the  ousi- 
ness  of  the  estate,  too,  to  you.  You'll  have  to  see  Miss  Sar- 
toris  every  day,  you  know.  He  drew  his  huge  mouth  into  a 
smile.  "  I  dare  say  she'd  rather  do  business  with  a  good- 
looking  young  fellow,  an  Oxford  man,  and  almost  one  of  her 
own  class,  rather  than  with  a  crusty  old  fellow  like  me. 
Humor  her,  Mordy,  my  boy — humor  her!  Use  every  oppor- 
tunity you  get!  You're  the  only  young  man  about  her,  now 
that  fellow  Way  re  has  gone,  and — well,  women  are  only 
women  after  all,  however  high  their  station.  You  were  speak- 
ing to  me  about  that  bay  hunter  of  Grimley's.  You  can  have 
it,  Mordy,  if  you  like — though  it's  a  long  price,  and  more 
than  it's  worth;  but  a  woman  likes  to  see  a  man  well 
mounted." 

Mordaunt  thanked  his  father  in  quite  a  different  fashion  to 
that  which  he  would  have  adopted  a  few  days  ago,  and  went 
down  to  the  Court. 

He  found  Lee  hanging  about  disconsolately,  and  informed 
him  of  Miss  Sartoris's  desire  that  the  work  should  be  stopped. 
Lee  offered  no  objection;  indeed,  he  declared  that  without 
the  missing  plan,  which,  presumably,  Gerald  had  unwittingly 
taken  with  him,  the  work  could  not  be  continued. 

"  Mr.  Wayre  will  be  back  presently,  sir,"  he  said,  stoutly. 
"  For,  of  course,  this  story  of  his  having  gone  off  with  Lucy 
Hawker  is  all  nonsense.  Mr.  Wayre  isn't  that  sort  of  gen- 
tleman." The  young  fellow  threw  back  his  head,  and 
flushed  hotly.  "  He's  just  gone  off  for  a  holiday,  as  I 
advised  him,  and  I'd  stake  my  life  that  he  has  no  more  to  do 
with  this  business  than — than  you  have,  Mr.  Mordaunt." 

Mordaunt  winced  and  turned  away  suddenly. 

The  rubbish  was  cleared  away,  and  the  half -demolished  wing 
was  left  standing  in  as  good  order  as  possible.  Mr.  Mor- 
daunt went  to  the  Court  that  day  and  had  an  interview  with 
Miss  Sartoris.  He  was  at  the  Court  every  day,  in  fact,  taking 
the  place  of  his  father,  and  Claire  got  accustomed  to  seeing 
and  consulting  him  instead  of  the  elder  Sapley.  Under  his 
changed  condition,  Mordaunt's  manner  had  become  ingratiat- 
ing, and  almost  pleasing.  To  Mrs.  Lexton,  for  instance,  he 
was  particularly  amiable,  and  she  more  than  once  remarked 
that  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley  was  a  singularly  agreeable  gentle- 
man. 

And  bit  by  bit  he  wormed  his  way,  after  a  fashion  which 
delighted  his  father,  into  the  good  graces,  not  only  of  Claire, 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  141 

but  of  all  at  the  Court.  He  seemed  to  have  an  eye  for  every- 
thing, and  especially  for  anything  that  tended  to  increase 
Claire's  comfort  and  convenience. 

Insensibly  she  began,  woman-like,  to  lean  upon  him  as, 
certainly,  she  had  ever  leaned  upon  his  father.  There  was 
no  detail  respecting  the  estate  too  minute  for  him,  and, 
unlike  his  father,  he  appeared  to  share  all  Claire's  sentiments 
toward  the  tenants.  It  was  he  who  suggested  that  a  percent- 
age should  be  remitted  from  their  rents,  and  who  pleaded  for 
the  retention  of  tenants  who  could  not  meet  their  liabilities. 

His  old  Oxford  manner  seemed  to  have  dropped  off  him  as 
the  skin  drops  from  a  serpent,  and  h£  was  now  always  grave 
and  in  earnest.  Scarcely  a  day  passed  without  Claire's  meet- 
ing him.  Sometimes  he  took  afternoon  tea  with  her  and  Mrs. 
Lexton,  and  as  he  was  always  entertaining,  Claire  had  almost 
overcome  her  dislike  of  him.  It  was  true  that  to  her  he  was 
just  her  man  of  business  and  nothing  more;  but  he  was 
pleasanter  to  deal  with  than  his  father,  and  she  was  glad  of 
the  exchange.  She  was  singularly  pleased.  Shut  up,  because 
of  her  mourning,  at  the  Court,  Mordaunt  Sapley  was  her  only 
medium  of  intercourse  with  the  outside  world,  and,  woman- 
like, she  grew  accustomed  to  him. 

It  never  occurred  to  her  that  he  should  dare  to  dream  of 
becoming  anything  closer  than  her  man  of  business,  and  she 
was  therefore  all  the  more  free  and  less  constrained  in  her 
intercourse  with  him. 

The  days  passed  into  weeks,  while  Mordaunt  Sapley  was 
making  his  insidious  progress,  and  nothing  was  heard  of  Ger- 
ald Wayre.  But  for  the  half-demolished  wing  and  his  haunt- 
ing presence  in  Claire's  own  heart,  he  might  never  have  ex- 
isted. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  "  Susan  "  was  a  trim  craft.  Though  she  has  been 
called  a  smack,  she  was  almost  large  enough  to  rank  as  a 
ketch,  for  her  hold  was  capacious. 

In  addition  to  the  old  captain  and  Gerald,  she  carried  three 
men  and  a  boy.  Gerald  saw  at-  once  that  the  captain,  whose 
name  was  Joslin,  was  a  good  seaman  by  the  way  in  which  he 
handled  his  vessel.  Like  most  of  the  west-country  folk,  he 
was  rather  a  reserved  and  self-contained  man,  and  at  first, 
beyond  a  glance  now  and  again  at  Gerald,  he  took  no  special 
notice  of  him.  The  weather  was  fair,  and  the  wind  favorable, 
and  after  the  "  Susan  "  had  got  well  started  on  her  course, 


148  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA. 

there  was  nothing  for  Gerald  to  do.  He  had  done  his  share  ot 
the  work  quietly  and  without  fuss,  and  when  sails  were  all 
set,  the  deck  tidied  up  as  neatly  as  a  man-o'-war's,  he  felt  at 
liberty  to  seat  himself  on  the  combing  and  light  a  pipe. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  all  his  thoughts  wera 
fixed  on  Claire.  It  is  also  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  not  a 
single  drop  of  bitterness  tinged  the  current  of  those  thoughts. 
Some  men  would  have  felt  extremely  bitter  at  the  curt  way  in 
which  Claire  had  refused  his  offer.  They  would  have  men- 
tally inveighed  against  the  pride  of  wealth  and  station  which 
could  harden  such  a  heart  as  even  Claire  Sartoris's;  but  Ger- 
ald was  too  generous  and  too  much  in  love  to  entertain  these 
feelings.  He  was  sick  and  sore  with  disappointment,  and 
combined  with  his  disappointment  was  a  vague  sense  of  sur- 
prise and  bewilderment,  but  no  bitterness. 

Claire  had  seemed  to  him  the  last  woman  in  the  world  to  set 
so  great  a  value  on  her  wealth  and  position  as  to  permit  them 
to  sway  her  actions  where  her  heart  was  concerned.  Why  had 
she — well,  yes — encouraged  him?  for  surely  there  had  been 
more  than  common  kindness  in  her  voice  and  in  her  eyes  as 
he  spoke  to  her  by  the  piano.  Why  had  she  not  repulsed  him 
at  the  moment  and  not  waited  till  the  morning  to  give  him 
his  dismissal  with  a  single  word?  He  sighed  and  puffed 
vigorously  at  his  pipe  as  the  question  beat  about  his  mind. 
It  never  occurred  to  him  that  she  had  seen  his  meeting  with 
Lucy;  and  if  it  had,  it  would  not  have  occurred  to  him  that 
she  could  have  been  jealous. 

When  a  man  is  quite  innocent  in  his  intentions,  the  idea 
that  he  could  seem  guilty  in  the  eyes  of  others  never  suggests 
itself  to  him.  The  only  reason  he  could  assign  for  her  refusal 
of  him  was  the  all-sufficient  one  that  she  did  not  love  him. 
There  was  sorrow  enough  in  this  thought  for  him,  but  there 
was  no  bitterness.  He  would  carry  out  his  resolution,  go 
back  and  finish  the  work,  and  then  take  himself  off  to  those 
wilds  in  which  the  old  familiar  life  of  hardship  and  danger 
would  help  him  to  forget,  or  at  least  to  overcome,  his  love  for 
the  mistress  of  Court  Regna. 

He  and  the  captain  dined  together  in  the  cabin.  The  cap- 
tain, of  course,  saw  that  the  young  fellow  who  had  volunteered 
as  his  mate  was  a  gentleman,  and  in  many  little  ways  he  made 
a  kind  of  acknowledgment  of  the  fact.  Over  the  pipe  and 
glass  of  grog  that  almost  invariably  follow  a  skipper's  meal  he 
often  dropped  into  conversation. 

"  Been  long  in  these  parts?"  he  asked,  one  evening. 


THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGKA.  143 

"  No,"  said  Gerald,  "  not  very  long.  Yous  I  suppose, 
know  them  well?" 

"Born  there,"  said  the  captain,  jerking  his  head  in  the 
direction  of  Regna. 

Gerald  remarked  that  it  was  a  pretty  place,  and  the  captain 
opined  emphatically  that  it  was  the  best  place  on  earth. 

"  But  that's  natural,  seem'  that  I  was  born  there.  I  sup- 
pose you  saw  Court  Regna?" 

Gerald  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  though  he  felt  it 
would  be  far  wiser  to  avoid  the  subject  if  he  meant  to  recover 
his  peace  of  mind,  he  said: 

"  You  know  it  well,  of  course?" 

The  captain  nodded,  and  smoked  thoughtfully  for  a  moment 
or  two. 

"Yes/'  he  said,  "man  and  boy.     Great  changes  there 
lately;  1  heerd  that  the  lord  left  all  the  property  to  the  young 
lady  as  was  livin'  there?" 
'  That  is  so,"  said  Gerald. 

"  He  was  a  strange  gentleman,"  remarked  the  captain, 
after  another  silence.  "  I  was  cabin  boy,  then  first  hand,  and 
then  mate,  aboard  his  yacht." 

"  He  kept  a  yacht?"  said  Gerald.  "  I  had  not  heard  of 
that." 

"  That's  a  long  while  ago,"  said  the  captain.  "  He  didn't 
keep  it  here  at  Regna;  it's  a  bad  coast  for  yachting,  uncer- 
tain-like,  as  you  may  say — one  hour  fine,  the  next  howlin'. 
We  used  to  put  in  at  one  of  the  safer  ports  further  down  the 
coast.  His  lordship  was  a  good  sailor,  and  could  handle  the 
yacht  as  neatly  as  any  man  in  the  Bristol  Channel;  and  I  never 
see  him  show  the  white  feather — excepting  once,  and  that 
was  when  we'd  got  the  women  aboard." 

Gerald  listened  half  absently. 

"  A  party  of  yachting  guests,  I  suppose?"  he  said. 

The  captain  pushed  his  cap  on  to  the  back  of  his  head,  and 
3tared  at  the  floor,  puffing  musingly. 

"  No,"  he  said,  slowly,  and  as  if  he  were  struggling  with 
his  natural  reticence;  "  if  warn't  a  party.  Lord  Wharton 
liked  to  be  alone  on  a  sea-trip." 

Something  in  the  man's  manner  attracted  Gerald's  atten- 
tion. 

"  What  ladies  were  they,  then?"  he  asked,  rather  to  show 
his  interest  than  from  curiosity. 

The  captain  still  seemed  to  hesitate;  but  at  last  he  said: 

"  Well,  I'm  not  given  to  talking  about  my  betters,  but  his 
lordship's  dead,  and  it  happened  so  long  ago  that  it  won't 


144  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNJL. 

make  much  odds  one  way  or  t'other.  It  was  this  \r»y. 
One  day  his  lordship  come  aboard,  just  below  hen),  without 
of  the  women  servants  of  the  Court.  I've  hee'rt  tell  that 
she'd  been  a  long  time  in  the  Court  service;  one  of  the  men, 
a  Regna  lad,  said  as  how  she  was  his  lordship's  nirse.  I  for- 
get her  name." 

"  Was  it  Burdon?"  asked  Gerald. 

"  That  was  it!"  assented  the  captain.     "  You  know  her?" 

"  I  have  seen  an  old  lady  named  Burdon  at  the  Court,"  said 
Gerald. 

"  A  very  old  woman,  a  bit  gone  in  her  mind?" 

Gerald  nodded. 

'*  Yes,  that's  her,"  said  the  captain.  "  We  sailed  for  a 
place  called  Lartree,  on  the  Irish  coast,  and  there  his  lordship 
and  she  went  ashore.  We  had  orders  to  lie  off  in  the  bay  and 
wait  for  his  lordship.  It  was  late  at  night,  and  dark  at  that, 
when  I,  bein;  watch,  heerd  the  captain's  gig  rowing  toward 
the  yacht.  I  got  a  lantern  and  held  it  so  as  to  light  the  ship's 
ladder;  and  you  may  guess  I  was  a  bit  took  aback  when  I  see 
two  women  in  the  boat  instead  of  one." 

He  had  refilled  his  glass,  and  being  well  launched  on  his 
narrative,  went  on  more  freely: 

"  His  lordship  and  this  Mrs.  Burdon  had  brought  a  young 
lady  with  them.  She  was  a  pretty  young  thing,  though  she 
was  pale  and  scared  like,  and  looked  as  if  she'd  been  crying. 
She  smiled  and  thanked  me  nicely  as  I  helped  her  up  the 
gang- way.  His  lordship  took  her  on  his  arm  down  to  the 
cabin,  and  'most  direckly  afterward  we  had  orders  to  set  sail." 

"  A  romantic  incident!"  said  Gerald,  deeply  interested. 
"  Do  you  know  who  she  was,  or  how  it  happened  that  she 
accompanied  Lord  W barton  on  the  yacht?" 

The  captain  shook  his  head. 

"  Never  knew  from  that  day  to  this,"  he  said.  "  His 
lordship  was  a  sort  of  close  and  reserved  kind  of  gentleman, 
and  kept  aloof  from  the  crew.  We'd  just  see  him  and  the 
young  lady  walking  on  the  deck  in  the  fine  weather;  and  he 
treated  her — well,  just  as  a  man  treats  his  sweetheart  or  his 
wife." 

"  His  wife?"  said  Gerald.  "  But  Lord  Wharton  was  never 
married,  was  he?" 

The  captain  shook  his  head  sententiously.  "  Can't  say," 
he  said.  "  Fve  heerd  as  he  never  was.  We  went  down  to  the 
Mediterranean  with  a  fair  wind,  and  his  lordship,  and  Mrs. 
Burdon,  and  the  young  lady  went  ashore.  The  next  day  w« 


THE  MISTEESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  146 

had  orders  to  go  back  to  England,  and  we  sailed  without 
them." 

"  And  you  never  saw  the  young  lady  again?"  asked  Ger- 
ald. 

"  No,"  said  the  captain.  "  I  never  see  nor  heerd  of  her 
again.  I  don't  know  as  I  ever  opened  my  mouth  about  the 
business  afore  this;  and  I  don't  know  what  made  me  talk 
about  it  now!"  he  added,  as  if  half  regretting  his  comunica- 
tiveness. 

"  There  is  no  harm  done,"  said  Gerald.  "  I  shall  not 
speak  of  it  again." 

The  captain  looked  somewhat  relieved.  "  Well,  as  1  said,  it 
happened  a  long  while  ago,"  he  remarked;  "  and  his  lord- 
ship's dead  and  gone  to  answer  for  the  business — if  there  was 
anything  wrong  in  it!" 

'  You  speak  doubtfully,"  said  Gerald. 

:<  Well,  you  see,"  said  the  captain,  slowly,  "  the  young 
lady  didn't  seem  like  a  light  o'  love.  One  can  generally  tell. 
And  hers  was  a  good  face  as  well  as  a  pretty  one;  besides,  his 
lordship  didn't  treat  her  as  a  man  treats  a  woman  who's  made 
a  fool  of  herself  for  him." 

"  It  is  a  strange  story,"  said  Gerald.  "  Do  you  think  they 
know  of  it  at  Court  Regna?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  captain;  "  but  I  feel  pretty  sure 
they  don't.  I've  never  heerd  any  one  speak  of  it,  and  it's  not 
unlikely  that  the  men  on  board  kept  their  counsel  as  I  did 
mine.  We  knew,  though  his  lordship  never  said  a  word,  that 
he  didn't  want  it  spoken  of,  and  we'd  too  good  places  to  run 
the  risk  of  losing  them." 

"  If  she  was  his  wife,  why  didn't  he  take  her  to  Court 
Regna?"  said  Gerald. 

"  Can't  say,"  said  the  captain,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
and  rising,  as  if  the  subject  were  closed.  "  Better  get  on  deck; 
I'm  thinking  we  shall  have  a  change  o'  weather." 

There  was  so  much  romance  in  the  captain's  story  that  it 
remained  in  Gerald's  mind  for  several  hours.  It  struck  him 
as  strange  that  even  here,  in  the  open  sea,  Court  Regna  and 
its  affairs  had  followed  him;  and  he  was  conscious  of  a  senti- 
ment approaching  pity  for  the  unknown  girl  who  had  intrusted 
her  fate  to  Lord  Wharton. 

However,  as  the  night  came  on  he  had  little  time  for  dwell- 
ing upon  the  strange  story.  The  captain's  prognostication 
was  verified.  The  wind  swung  round,  after  the  charming  but 
somewhat  risky  fashion  of  the  Bristol  Channel,  and  the 
"  Susan "  was  soon  rolling  in  the  trough  of  a  heavy  sea. 


146  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGKA. 

Gerald  and  the  rest  of  the  crew  were  hard  at  work  all  night. 
The  canvas  had  to  be  taken  in,  and  the  "  Susan  "  was  scud- 
ding with  bare  poles  before  a  boisterous  wind,  which,  before 
morning,  grew  into  a  perfect  hurricane. 

The  storm  and  the  labor  it  caused  came  as  a  welcome  relief 
to  Gerald,  and  as  he  clung  to  the  shrouds,  with  the  wind  and 
rain  beating  pitilessly  upon  him,  he  found  it  almost  possible 
to  forget  even  Claire  in  the  stress  and  strain  of  the  dangerous 
duties  which  he  had  undertaken,  and  which  he  performed  as 
earnestly  and  honestly  as  any  other  member  of  the  crew. 

Toward  morning  the  wind  subsided,  but  was  followed  by  a 
thick  fog,  which  was  still  more  dangerous.  They  had  lost  a 
topmast  during  the  night,  and  the  vessel  had  been  badly 
strained,  and  Gerald,  as  he  made  his  way  along  the  drenched 
and  slippery  deck,  to  ask  a  question  of  the  captain,  saw,  by 
the  expression  of  the  weather-beaten  face,  that  the  skipper 
was  not  particularly  satisfied  with  the  condition  of  affairs.  He 
smiled  grimly  as  Gerald  approached  him,  and  clung  to  the 
taffrail. 

"  Not  much  of  a  pleasure  trip,  this!"  he  said.  "  I  reckon 
you  didn't  calculate  on  so  much  weather  and  hard  work  when 
you  came  aboard  sir?" 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Gerald,  pleasantly.  "  It's  not 
the  first  bad  weather  I've  seen,  or  the  first  hard  work.  One 
must  take  it  as  it  comes.  Where  are  we?" 

"  Don't  know  exactly/'  said  the  captain,  with  a  composure 
which  struck  Gerald  as  grimly  humorous.  "  Off  the  coast  of 
Ireland,  I  fancy.  We  shall  see  when  this  pea-soup  lifts."  And 
he  nodded  at  that  sailor's  bete  noir,  the  yellow  fog.  "  Where 
ever  we  are,  I  shall  have  to  put  into  port  for  repairs." 

"  I  am  sorry,  for  your  sake,"  said  Gerald;  "  but  it  doesn't 
matter  so  far  as  I  am  concerned.  1  am  only  out  on  a  holi- 
day." 

Toward  noon  the  fog  lifted,  and  they  made  for  one  of  the 
small  bays  on  the  south-east  coast  of  Ireland.  The  captain 
knew  the  place,  and  informed  Gerald  that  as  the  necessary 
repairs  would  take  some  days,  he  was  free  to  spend  them  on 
land,  remarking:  "  You  bargained  for  a  fair  sail  to  France, 
not  for  floundering  about  the  Irish  coast  Take  a  week  oft, 
and  if  I  can't  get  a  man  to  take  your  place — or  if  you've  a 
mind  to  go  on  with  us — why,  join  at  the  end  of  that  time." 

Gerald  accepted  the  offer,  but  would  not  go  ashore  until  the 
vessel  had  been  made  as  trim  and  ship-shape  as  possible;  and 
he  and  the  captain  parted  on  most  satisfactory  terms. 


THE  MISTEESS  OF  COUKT  EEGNA.  147 

"  Here's  your  pay  up  to  date,  and  as  you've  earned  it  like 
a  man,  I  reckon  you  won't  be  too  proud  to  take  it." 

Gerald  accepted  the  money,  frankly  admitting  that  he 
needed  it,  and  having  shaken  the  captain  by  the  hand,  went 
ashore.  As  he  walked  through  the  little  village  which  stood 
on  the  edge  of  the  small  bay,  he  asked  himself  what  he  should 
do  next;  whether,  after  all,  he  had  acted  wisely  in  leaving 
Regna,  and  whether  it  would  not  be  better  for  him  to  end  his 
engagement  with  the  captain  and  go  straight  back  to  his  work 
at  the  Court?  But,  in  simple  truth,  he  shrunk,  with  soreness 
of  heart,  from  seeing  Claire  yet  awhile. 

The  country  behind  the  village  was  rough  in  the  extreme, 
but  rich  in  that  beauty  which  is  characteristic  of  Irish 
scenery.  The  hills  that  rose  from  the  sea  were  thickly  covered 
with  pines,  which  made  the  air  fragrant  with  terebene,  as 
Gerald  entered  one  of  the  woods.  After  walking  for  some 
time  amidst  the  straight  stems  which  rose  like  the  columns  of 
some  stately  cathedral,  he  came  upon  a  wooden  hut.  Its 
solitude  and  the  scenery  by  which  it  was  surrounded  reminded 
him  of  some  of  his  backwoods  experience. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  have  forgotten  how  to  use  an  ax?"  he  asked 
himself,  with  a  smile,  as  he  went  up  to  the  door  of  the  hut. 
The  woodman  came  out  in  answer  to  his  summons,  and  Gerald 
stated  his  case  frankly.  The  woodman,  a  sturdy  young  fel- 
low, eyed  Gerald  pleasantly  enough. 

"  You  might  get  lodgings  in  the  village,"  he  said;  "  or  you 
can  stay  here,  if  you  like,  shure,  if  it's  not  too  tough  for  yer." 

It  was  just  what  Gerald  wanted.  With  true  Irish  hospitality, 
the  young  fellow  prepared  a  meal  at  once.  It  consisted  of 
the  simplest  fare,  but  the  woodman  did  the  honors  with  the 
rough  grace  and  courtesy  characteristic  of  his  countrymer. 

Gerald  felt  as  if  he  were  indeed  in  the  backwoods  again  as 
he  sat  on  a  felled  tree  and  talked  with  his  host,  while  they 
smoked  their  pipes  and  sipped  their  tea.  He  slept  soundly 
that  night  on  a  bed  made  of  fir  fiber  covered  with  a  rough 
rug,  the  fragrance  of  the  couch  fully  compensating  for  any 
lack  of  softness.  When  he  awoke  in  the  morning  his  host  had 
already  gone  off  to  work,  and  Gerald  set  about  getting  the 
breakfast.  He  felt  as  he  was  thus  engaged  that,  if  he  had 
never  met  Claire  Sartoris,  he  could  have  spent  many  a  happy 
mouth  in  this  delightful  place.  After  breakfast  he  offered  to 
help  the  young  fellow  with  his  work,  and  the  man  looked 
somewhat  surprised. 

"  Shure,  I  thought  ye  were  a  gintleman!"  he  said. 

Gerald  laughed.     "'The  oldest  gentleman  of  all  was  a  gar- 


148  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

dener,"  he  said.  "  I  know  how  to  use  an  ax — if  i'Ve  not  tor- 
gotten  it;  and  perhaps  you'll  give  me  a  hint  or  two." 

He  worked  with  Terence,  the  woodman,  as  honestly  as  he 
had  worked  on  board  the  "  Susan,"  and  on  the  second  day, 
as  they  sat  at  their  evening  meal,  Terence  remarked  that  it 
was  a  pity  Gerald  should  ever  leave  the  forest. 

On  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day  they  were  engaged  in  fell- 
ing a  particularly  large  fir.  They  had  cut  through  half  of  the 
trunk,  when  Gerald  noticed  that  the  guard  rope,  as  it  is 
called,  had  slipped  below  the  place  at  which  they  had  tied  it. 

He  pointed  this  out  to  Terence,  and  climbed  the  tree  to 
replace  the  rope  in  its  proper  position.  He  was  fastening  the 
last  knot,  when  the  woodman  uttered  a  cry  of  warning.  Ger- 
ald looked  down  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  and  at  the  same 
moment  felt  the  tree  giving  under  him,  and,  before  he  could 
drop  from  his  elevated  position,  the  tall  trunk  fell  with  a  crash 
to  the  ground.  He  was  thrown  some  distance  by  the  impetus, 
but  thinking  that  nothing  was  amiss,  attempted  to  rise.  As 
he  did  so,  a  sharp  pain  shot  through  his  leg,  and  he  fell  to  the 
ground. 

He  knew  in  a  moment  what  had  happened,  and  when  the 
woodman  sprung  to  his  side,  he  said,  quietly: 

"  I've  broken  my  leg." 

Terence  said  nothing,  but  lugged  Gerald  up  on  to  his  back 
and  carried  him  to  the  hut. 

"  It's  broken,  shure  enough!"  he  said. 

Gerald  smiled  mirthlessly.  "  I  know — a  broken  leg — when 
I  feel  it,"  he  said,  with  an  attempt  at  cheerfulness.  "  Can 
you  set  it?" 

The  woodman  shook  his  head.  "By  good  luck  there's  a 
dochter  in  the  village,"  he  said.  "  You  kape  quiet  and  I'll 
fetch  him." 

"  I  shall  keep  quiet  enough,  without  a  doubt,"  said  Gerald, 
with  a  rueful  laugh. 

The  woodman  made  him  as  comfortable  as  possible,  and 
than  started  for  the  doctor.  While  he  was  gone,  Gerald  took 
a  sheet  of  note-paper  and  envelope  from  his  pocket-book  and 
wrote  a  letter  to  Mr.  Sapley,  informing  him  of  his  accident, 
and  promising  to  return  immediately  he  was  able  to  do  so. 

Terence  returned  with  the  doctor,  the  limb  was  set,  and 
Gerald,  half  unconscious  with  pain  as  he  was,  had  still  intelli- 
gence enough  remaining  to  beg  the  doctor  to  post  the  letter, 
and  also  to  inform  the  captain  of  the  "  Susan  "  that  he  would 
be  unable  to  sail  with  him. 

Then  he  quietly  and  unostentatiously  fainted. 


THE   MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  149 

Now,  it  happened  that  Gerald's  penciled  note  was  delivered 
during  Mr.  Sapley 's  absence  from  home.  Mordaunt  opened 
it,  and  as  he  read  it,  a  thrill  of  satisfaction  ran  through  him. 
That  Fate  should  be  playing  into  his  hands  in  this  extraor- 
dinary way,  seemed  to  him  an  augury  of  his  future  success. 
He  locked  the  door,  and  paced  up  and  down  for  some  time 
with  the  note  in  his  hand,  then  he  tore  it  into  frag- 
ments, and,  seating  himself  at  the  table,  wrote  the  following 
answer: 

"  DEAR  SIR, — I  am  extremely  sorry  to  hear  of  the  accident 
which  has  befallen  you,  and  I  trust  that  it  will  have  no  very 
serious  consequences.  Owing  to  unforeseen  circumstances, 
Miss  Sartoris  has  decided  to  discontinue  the  rebuilding  of  the 
wing  at  the  Court.  Lee,  the  builder,  has  been  arranged  with, 
and  I  beg  to  inclose  a  check,  which  I  trust  you  will  consider 
sufficient  compensation  for  the  work  you  have  done/' 

He  signed  this  with  his  father's  name,  and  appended  his 
father's  signature  to  the  check,  and  as  he  posted  this  letter 
with  his  own  hand,  felt  as  grateful  to  Providence  as  if  he  were 
the  most  upright  and  deserving  of  men. 

Gerald  Wayre  completely  out  of  his  way,  his  path  was  clear! 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

HAVING  sent  this  letter  and  check,  Mordaunt  Sapley  waited 
for  a  reply,  which  he  knew  would  come.  He  counted  upon 
Gerald's  pride  to  play  into  his  hands,  and  it  is  needless  to  say 
that  he  did  not  rely  upon  it  in  vain. 

In  a  few  days  there  came  a  short  note  from  Gerald,  saving 
that  he  regretted  that  Miss  Sartoris  had  decided  to  discontinue 
the  rebuilding,  but  that  he  had  only  to  acquiesce  in  her 
decision.  And  he  begged  permission  to  return  the  check. 

Mordaunt  Sapley  smiled  as  he  burned  both  letter  and  check. 
Gerald  had  indeed  played  into  his  hands,  for  the  pride  that 
prompted  the  return  of  the  draft  would,  Mordaunt  felt  sure, 
prevent  Gerald's  return. 

His  sudden  departure  puzzled  Mordaunt  a  little;  for,  not- 
withstanding his  explanation,  he  was  conscious  of  a  feeling 
that  the  desire  for  a  holiday  did  not  altogether  and  satisfac- 
torily account  for  Gerald's  flight.  And  Gerald  had  been  so 
engrossed  and  evidently  delighted  with  his  work.  Why  had 
he  gone? 

As  he  could  not  answer  the  question.  Mordaunt  put  it  aside. 

He  did  not  tell  his  father  that  ho  had  heard  from  Gerald, 


150  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

and  old  Sapley  and  the  rest  of  Regna  became  fully  convinced 
that  Gerald  had  gone  off  with  Lucy,  as  the  days  passed  into 
weeks  and  the  weeks  into  months  without  any  tidings  of  the 
absent  pair  reaching  Regna. 

Claire,  as  a  rule,  avoided  the  old  wing,  but  now  and  again 
she  walked  that  way,  and  looked  at  it — as  a  woman  looks  at 
some  inanimate  object  associated  with  the  great  and  secret  sor- 
row of  her  life.  She  recalled  Gerald's  face,  his  voice,  the  rever- 
ential and  veiled  tenderness  of  his  eyes  when  they  rested  upon 
her.  She  lived  over  again  that  day  when  he  had  stood  near 
the  falling  wall,  and  she  had  sprung  forward  to  warn  and  res- 
cue him.  His  stern  words — hiding  his  anxiety  on  her 
account — rang  in  her  ears.  Like  a  canker  in  the  heart  of  the 
rose,  her  love — her  blighted  love  for  him — was  eating  into  her 
life. 

She  grew  paler  and  thinner;  and  Mrs.  Lexton,  who  noticed 
the  alteration  in  her,  insisted  upon  her  taking  some  change. 

They  went  up  to  London,  and  plunged  into  the  mild  course 
of  dissipation  permitted  to  ladies. 

But  Claire  never  entered  a  concert-room  or  a  theater  with- 
out looking  round,  half  fearing,  half  hoping  to  see  the  stal- 
wart form  and  handsome  face  which  were  rarely  out  of  her 
mind.  Though  they  did  not  go  into  "  society,"  in  the 
accepted  sense  of  the  word,  some  friends  and  connections  of 
the  family  made  Claire's  acquaintance,  and  made  haste  to  wel- 
come the  young  girl,  who  was  not  only  lovely  and  charming, 
but  the  mistress  of  Court  Regna  and  a  large  fortune. 

"  You  must  come  up  for  the  next  season — you  must,  indeed, 
my  dear!"  said  one  of  these,  a  certain  Lady  Redmayne,  an 
only  lady,  who  was  generally  recognized  as  one  of  that  little 
band  called  leaders  of  fashion.  "  You  will  make  a  great  suc- 
cess, I  am  certain." 

Claire  smiled  in  the  pensive,  preoccupied  way  which  had 
become  habitual  to  her  now. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  particularly  want  to  be  a  success," 
she  said. 

Lady  Redmayne's  eyed  her  shrewdly. 

"  Every  healthy-minded  man  or  woman  wants  to  be  a  sue- 
cess,  my  dear,"  she  remarked,  with  good-natured  cynicism. 
"  It  is  what  we  live  for — we  women,  especially.  You  have 
been  buried  too  long  in  that  country  place  of  yours.  There  is 
nothing  so  bad  for  the  nerves  and  spirits  as  a  long  spell  of  the 
country;  it  is  always  your  rustic  who  is  melancholy  and  nerv- 
ous. Too  much  quiet  is  bad  for  the  body  and  the  brain.  You 
laugh!" 


TffE  MTSTEESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  151 

Claire  had  only  smiled. 

"  Very  well.  But  I  am  quite  right.  Take  yourself,  for 
instance.  Look  at  that  woman  in  the  peacock-blue  bonnet. 
That  is  Lady  Mary  Grantford.  How  old  do  you  think  she  is? 
Looks  like  a  girl,  doesn't  she?  Did  you  hear  her  laugh?  My 
dear,  she  is  as  old  as  I  am;  we  were  at  school  together.  And 
it  isn't  only  the  poudre  de  riz  and  beautiful  wig,  and  her  eye- 
brow pencil,  that  keep  her  young — it  is  the  bustle  and  stir  of 
life.  She  hasn't  had  time  to  get  old.  And  she  will  keep  like 
that  until  one  day  she  will  wake  up  and  find  it  is  time  to  die." 

"  What  an  awful  picture!"  said  Claire,  with  a  faint  shudder. 

"  Awful;  yes.  But  I  doubt  whether  it  is  much  worse  than 
yours,"  said  Lady  Eedmayne.  "  Here  are  you,  who  have 
never  had  a  trouble  in  your  life—" 

Claire's  lips  came  together,  and  she  winced. 

"  Who  are  rolling  in  money,  have  one  of  the  places  in  Eng- 
land; who  might  become  a  power  in  the  world,  and — and — no, 
not  end,  but  continue — by  marrying  a  coronet;  but  '  instead 
of  which,'  as  the  magistrate  said,  here  you  are,  as  listless  and 
uninterested,  as  '  outside  '  things  as  if  you  were  that  poor  girl 
wheeling  that  perambulator." 

"  Perhaps  she  is  happy  enough — content/'  said  Claire. 

They  were  driving  through  Kensington  Gardens,  and  the 
warmth  of  the  winter's  sun  had  brought  out  the  nurse-maids. 

"  Not  she!"  said  Lady  Redmayne,  with  the  coolness  of  the 
aristocrat.  "How  could  a  person  of  that  class  be  content? 
But  your  case  is  different.  My  dear,  take  the  advice  of  a 
woman  who,  having  an  absurd  prejudice  against  powder  and 
paint,  must  consider  herself  old,  and  live.  I  quite  tremble 
when  I  think  of  what  you  are  drifting  into!" 

;<  What  is  that— an  old  maid?"  said  Claire. 

"  No,  my  child,  you  are  too  young  for  such  an  awful  fate 
as  that  to  be  thought  of  for  the  present;  but  into  something 
almost  as  bad  and  hopeless  —  the  melancholy  young  person 
who  wears  a  black  merino  dress,  and  goes  round  '  slumming,* 
and  visiting  the  poor,  with  a  basket  and  a  bundle  of  tracts." 

"  I  sometimes  go  round  Eegna  with  the  basket,  if  not  the 
tracts/'  said  Claire,  with  a  smile. 

"  That's  all  very  well — at  Regna.  It  is  part  of  your  r61e, 
my  dear — the  Lady  Bountiful,  and  all  that — but  I'm  thinking 
of  the  professional  London  district  visitor." 

Claire  laughed. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  she  said.  "  I  have  neither  sufficient 
courage  nor  unselfishness  for  that." 

"I  am    delighted    to    hear    it,"   said    Lady  Kedmayne, 


152  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

devoutly.  "  I  hope  you  are  not  offended  by  my  candor,  my 
dear?"  she  added. 

"No;  I  ain  grateful,"  said  Claire,  simply.  "It  is  very 
good  of  you  to  take  any  interest  in  me." 

"  Which  means,  '  Thank  you  for  your  advice,  which  I  don't 
mean  to  follow  '?"  remarked  Lady  Redmayne,  shrewdly. 

Claire  colored  faintly. 

"  I  will  see/'  she  said,  quietly. 

That  same  evening  she  and  Mrs.  Lexton  dined  out,  and  as 
she  entered  the  room,  Lady  Redmayne,  who  was  of  the  party, 
saw  that  Claire  had  discarded  black  from  her  dress,  and  wore 
a  costume  which,  if  simple — for  bright  colors  and  elaborate 
costumes  were  not  to  Claire's  taste — was  both  rich  and  ele- 
gant. And  the  old  lady  nodded  and  smiled  on  her  approv- 
ingly. 

Claire  attracted  a  good  deal  of  attention,  and,  in  the 
drawing-room,  after  dinner,  the  men  were  gathered  round  her 
in  that  significant  accord  which  indicates  that  their  interest 
and  admiration  have  been  aroused. 

Though  it  was  the  "  off  season,"  Parliament  was  sitting, 
and  there  were  enough  people  in  town  to  provide  for  Claire 
that  foretaste  of  success  which  Lady  Redmayne  had  prophe- 
sied. When  Claire  rode  in  the  park  she  had  no  lack  of 
attendant  cavaliers;  and  when  she  appeared  in  Lady  Red- 
mayne's  box  at  the  winter  opera,  men  dropped  in  noiselessly, 
and  stood  at  the  back  of  Claire's  chair,  eager  for  a  word,  or, 
better  still,  a  smile. 

Claire  was  gracious  to  all  of  them.  To  the  young  boy 
peer — Lord  Charmly — who  was  madly  in  love  with  her,  and 
declared  his  love  in  public  and  private — to  the  mature  states- 
man— Sir  William  Grantly — who  paid  the  mistress  of  Court 
Regna  the  grave  attentions  characteristic  of  so  famous  a  man. 
Claire  was  gracious  to  them  all;  but  neither  the  boy's  fervent 
adoration  nor  the  statesman's  serious  devotion  touched  her 
heart. 

Sometimes  she  felt  as  if  her  heart  were  dead;  as  if  it  had 
been  robbed  of  life  and  the  capacity  for  love  on  the  night  she 
had  seen  Lucy  Hawker  on  Gerald  Wayre's  breast.  And  when 
the  thought  struck  her,  a  flush  would  rise  to  her  face,  and  her 
hands  would  clinch;  that  she,  Claire  Sartoris,  should  be  so 
poor  a  thing  as  to  think  of  a  man  who  had  left  her  side — with 
his  love  vows  warm  upon  his  lips— to  fly  with  another 
woman — a  girl  from  her  own  village,  almost  one  of  her 
servants! 

Lady  Redmayne's  worldly  wise  advice  bore  fruit     When 


THE   MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  153 

Claire  and  Mrs.  Lexton  returned  to  the  Court,  the  worn  and 
weary  expression  had  almost  disappeared  from  Claire's  face, 
and  she  seemed  very  nearly  her  old  self.  But  as  the  carriage 
passed  by  the  half-demolished  wing,  she  averted  her  eyes,  as 
if  she  were  not  even  yet  strong  enough  to  look  upon  it  un- 
moved. 

They  had  scarcely  settled  down,  when  the  county  families 
began  to  call.  Lord  Chester  was  the  first,  and  the  others  fol- 
lowed suit.  A  few  months  ago  Claire  would  have  said,  "  Not 
at  home!"  and  contented  herself  by  merely  returning  their 
cards;  but,  in  Lady  Redmayne's  words,  she  was  now  deter- 
mined to  live.  The  county  people  saw  and  were  seen,  and 
were  delighted  with  her.  Invitations  to  dinner  came  pell- 
mell,  and  Claire  accepted  them.  Her  appearance  at  the  first 
of  these  parties  created  as  much  of  a  sensation  as  was  permis- 
sible at  such  a  solemn  function  as  a  county  dinner.  .  She 
looked  superb,  and  the  effect  of  her  clear,  ivory  face  and  violet 
eyes,  with  their  half-sad,  half-dreamy  light,  was  heightened 
by  contrast  with  the  brilliant  color  and  rather  florid  style  of 
beauty  of  the  other  women.  She  looked  like  a  Grecian  statue 
in  the  midst  of  a  gayly  colored  flower-garden. 

The  women  eyed  her  curiously  and  with  reluctant  admira- 
tion, and  the  men,  metaphorically,  fell  at  her  feet  at  once. 

It  was  a  large  party.  Lord  Chester  took  Claire  in  to  dinner, 
and  was  evidently  delighted  at  having  her  under  his  wing. 
He  had  called  at  the  Court  several  times  since  Claire's  return, 
and  he  treated  her  as  if  they  were  quite  old  friends. 

"  It  is  a  large  party,"  he  said,  raising  his  pince-nez;  "  but 
not  so  large  as  those  you  are  accustomed  to  in  London,  Miss 
Sartoris.  I  like  a  large  party;  it  is  more  cheerful,  don't  you 
think?  And  people  are  not  so  likely  to  drift  into  gossip  and 
politics — which  I  hate.  By  the  way,  isn't  that  Mr.  Mordaunt 
Sapley  down  there,  at  the  end  of  the  table?" 

Claire  looked.  It  was  indeed  that  gentleman.  Perhaps 
the  surprise  she  felt  at  seeing  him  at  a  county  dinner-party 
showed  itself  in  her  face,  for  Lord  Chester  smiled  as  he 
balanced  his  soup-spoon. 

"A  clever  young  fellow!"  he  said.  "I  am  very  glad  to 
meet  him,  for  I  want  to  ask  his  advice  about  some  land  I 
have  on  my  hands.  Rather  calculating  of  me,  you  are  think- 
ing! An  expressive  face  is  not  always  an  advantage  to  its 
owner,  Miss  Sartoris,"  he  added,  with  a  laugh. 

"  I  am  sure  Mr.  Sapley  will  be  glad  to  help  you,"  said 
Claire. 

She  looked  down  the  table  again  at  Mordaunt,  and  noticed 


154  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

a  change  in  him.  He  seemed  to  have  grown  older  and 
graver,  and  Claire,  whose  eyes  were  like  the  eagle's,  thought 
that  she  noticed  some  threads  of  gray  in  the  hair  on  his 
temples.  It  seemed  improbable  in  a  man  so  young;  but  if  she 
were  mistaken  in  the  gray  hairs,  there  could  be  no  mistake  in 
the  lines  which  had  suddenly  become  graven  in  his  face,  and 
which  revealed  themselves  quite  plainly.  She  noticed  that  he 
wore  no  jewelry  of  any  kind,  and  that  in  place  of  the  old 
conceited,  self-satisfied  expression,  his  face  wore  a  look  of  set 
gravity. 

"  Mr.  Mordatmt  Sapley  has  become  quite  a  celebrity  of  late 
— but  of  course  you  know,"  remarked  Lord  Chester. 

"  No,"  said  Claire.     "  I  have  been  away  some  months." 

"  I  thought  you  might  have  heard.  Old  Sapley — I  beg  his 
pardon!"  He  laughed.  "He  is  generally  called  Old 
Sapley,'  has  almost  entirely  given  up  business  now,  and  his 
son  has  stepped  into  his  place,  and  I  imagine  makes  a  very 
worthy  successor." 

"  Has  Mr.  Sapley  been  ill?"  Claire  asked. 

"  I  don't  think  so;  though  I  fancy  I  have  heard  he  has  been 
ailing  lately.  He  is  getting  on  in  years,  you  know." 

"  He  appeared  quite  well  and  strong  when  I  left,"  said 
Claire.  But  1  remember  that  Mr.  Mordaunt  transacted 
business  for  him." 

"  Perhaps  he  felt  that  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  the 
young  fellow  to  have  some  responsibility,"  remarked  Lord 
Chester,  "  and  it  appears  to  have  worked  very  well,  for  I  hear 
that  Mr.  Mordaunt  has  very  much  improved;  in  fact,  that  he 
has  become  quite  a  '  changed  man. ' ' 

"  And  in  what  way  is  he  famous?"  asked  Claire. 

Lord  Chester  laughed. 

"  Oh,  I  only  used  the  phrase  in  a  limited  and  local  sense. 
He  has  shown  a  great  interest  in  politics  lately,  and  has  taken 
rather  a  prominent  part  in  local  affairs.  They  say  that  ho 
started  the  idea  of  the  new  hospital  at  Thraxton;  it  is  certain 
that  though  he  did  not  head  the  subscriptions,  he  planked 
down  the  largest  check." 

Claire  was  surprised.  She  knew  that  Mr.  Sapley,  the 
father,  had  never  erred  en  the  side  of  liberality. 

'  Then  there  was  the  matter  of  the  hounds,"  continued 
Lord  Chester.  '  You  may  have  heard  that  our  host,  Lord 
Wraybrough  threatened  to  give  up  the  mastership  because  of 
the  lack  of  subscriptions?" 

'  Yes,  I  saw  it  in  the  papers." 

"Well,  we  Were  U.1   in  despair,  and   had  giren  up  the 


THE  mSTKESS  OF  COURT  REGKA.  155 

hounds  for  lost,  when  young  Sapley  came  forward  and  offered 
to  guarantee  the  deficiency.  Of  course,  it  must  have  been 
with  his  father's  money,  but  we  all  know  it  was  Mr.  Mor- 
daunt's  doing." 

He  glanced  approvingly — and  yet  curiously — at  the  prefcer- 
naturally  grave  face  at  the  other  end  of  the  table.  "  And  he 
did  it  very  modestly,  too.  Most  young  men  coming  forward 
in  that  way  would  have  done  so  with  the  object  of  filling  the 
mastership,  but  Mr.  Mordaunt  stipulated  that  Lord  Wray- 
brough  should  retain  it.  Then  there  was  another  matter — a 
small  matter,  but  one  that  has  won  golden  opinions  for  Mr. 
Mordaunt  amongst  the  people — but  they  are  your  people,  Miss 
Sartoris,  and  you  will  have  heard  of  it,  no  doubt?" 

"  I  don't  think  so.     What  is  it?"  Claire  asked. 

"  Old  Captain  Hawker  at  Regna — he  has  had  some  trouble 
lately/'  Lord  Chester  went  on  quickly  and  delicately,  "  and 
the  poor  old  man  was  broken  down.  They  say  he  isn't  likely 
to  live.  A  case  of  broken  heart,  if  ever  there  was  one.*' 

The  hand  with  which  Claire  raised  her  wine-glass  trembled. 

"  Oh,  I  am  sorry — sorry,"  she  murmured,  almost  inaudibly. 

"  Yes,  yes!"  said  Lord  Chester,  quickly.  "  Poor  old 
fellow!  I  went  to  see  him  yesterday,  and  I  am  afraid  that  he 
is  breaking  up." 

'*  I  will  go  and  see  him  to-morrow,"  said  Claire,  with  a 
little  catch  in  her  voice.  "  And  what  is  it  that  Mr.  Mordaunt 
has  done?" 

"  He  has  given  the  old  man  a  pension,  quite  a  liberal  pen- 
sion— but  I  beg  your  pardon  a  thousand  times!  Perhaps  it 
comes  from  you,  and  Mr.  Mordaunt  was  only  your  agent." 

Claire  looked  away,  her  brows  drawn  straight. 

"  No,"  she  said,  her  voice  sounding  cold  and  proud,  as  it 
always  did  when  she  was  much  moved.  "  I  did  not  know 
Captain  Hawker  was  ill." 

Lord  Chester  saw  that  she  was  distressed  or  annoyed,  and 
hastened  away  from  the  subject.  "  It  is  whispered  that  Mr. 
Mordaunt  Sapley  may  probably  stand  for  the  county  at  the 
general  election^  and  'pon  my  word,  I  shouldn't  be  surprised 
if  he  were  returned!" 

"  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley,  a  member  of  Parliament!"  Claire 
exclaimed,  involuntarily.  She  remembered  the  father  creep- 
ing about  the  Court  in  Lord  Wharton's  time,  remembered 
Mordaunt  as  he  was,  only  recently,  vain,  affected,  self-con- 
ceited; it  sounded  incredible,  ridiculous,  to  her. 

Lord  Chester  laughed  as  if  he  enjoyed  her  naive  astonish' 
ment 


153  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGNA. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Miss  Sartoris,  we  live  in  democratic  times! 
Nothing  nowadays  surprises  me;  certainly  not  the  sudden  rise 
of  any  man.  Why,  think  of  the  kind  of  person  we  send  to 
the  House!  Though  it's  true  Mr.  Mordaunt  would  be  a 
county  member,  and  we  have  always  sent  one  of  our  own 
people. " 

He  used  the  phrase  quite  simply,  and  without  a  suspicion  of 
vulgar  pride  or  insolence. 

"  But  the  old  order  changes,  you  know.  And,  really,  come 
to  consider  it,  I'm  not  sure  that  Mr.  Mordaunt  wouldn't  make 
a  capital  member.  Anyway,  he  would  be  better  than  our 
present  man,  poor  old  Barkly,  who  has  never  opened  his 
mouth  in  the  House — except  to  snore.  At  any  rate,  Mr.  Mor- 
daunt is  here  " — he  looked  round  him  significantly — "  and," 
he  laughed  again,  "  one  ought  not  to  be  surprised  at  anything 
that  follows." 

There  was  a  pause  for  a  moment,  then  he  added,  candidly: 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  think  the  last  remark  in  rather  bad 
taste;  and  it  loas.  But  what  I  meant  was,  that  a  short  time 
ago  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley  would  not  have  had  an  invitation 
from  Lord  Wraybrough." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Claire. 

"  But  times  are  changing;  for  the  better — perhaps  " — the 
old  aristocrat  and  his  prejudices  peeped  out  in  the  pause,  and 
the  doubtful  accent  of  the  "  perhaps/'  "  We  want  young 
blood.  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley  is  young,  undeniably  clever  and 
rich — or  will  be." 

"  Will  he?"  said  Claire,  absently. 

Lord  Chester  smiled. 

"  I  should  say  that  Mr.  Sapley  was  one  of  the  richest  men 
in  the  county,"  he  replied.  "  How  he  got  it — "  he  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  wrinkled  his  face  ruefully.  "  Ah,  well, 
one  man's  loss  is  another  man's  gain.  We  all  know  how  men 
like  old  Sapley  amass  their  wealth.  It  is  the  old  story  of  the 
ivy  and  the  oak.  The  ivy  flourishes,  the  oak  dies.  But  really 
I  must  have  bored  you  to  death  with  Mr.  Sapley  and  his 
works.  Did  you  go  and  see  Irving  and  Miss  Terry  while  you 
were  in  town?" 

The  dinner  dragged  its  slow  length  along,  but  at  last  came 
to  a  conclusion,  and  the  ladies  left  the  gentlemen  to  their 
claret.  Mordaunt  leaned  back  hi  his  chair  and  drew  an 
inaudible  breath  of  relief. 

^  Every  time  Claire  had  glanced  his  way  he  had  felt  the  calm, 
violet  eyes  upon  him.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  she  had  read  his 
secret;  not  only  the  awful  secret  of  his  crime,  but  that  hidden 


THE  MISTEESS  OF  COURT  REGKA.  15? 

ambition,  which,  sown  in  his  breast  by  his  father,  had  now- 
grown  into  a  stalwart  plant  under  whose  spreading  leaves  the 
course  of  his  life  was  stealthily  working  its  way. 

He  was  incapable  of  love,  but,  mingled  with  his  feverish 
craving  for  place  and  power,  was  that  base  substitute  for  love 
which  is  all  such  a  man  can  feel.  Claire's  beauty,  her  inde- 
scribable grace  and  charm,  made  his  heart  beat  with  ambition 
and  desire;  ambition  to  become  the  master  of  Court  Regna, 
desire  to  gain  the  loveliest  woman  he  had  ever  seen. 

One  moment  his  heart  quailed  before  the  difficulties  which 
her  beauty  and  her  pride  presented,  the  next,  he  rose  to  a 
kind  of  sullen  and  dogged  resolution.  Who  could  say  that  he 
would  not  win?  What  had  he  not  achieved  already!  Here 
he  was,  a  guest  at  the  table  of  one  of  the  most  exclusive  of 
the  county  families;  he  had  gained  his  footing,  he  would  take 
care  to  strengthen  it  day  by  day,  until  there  should  be  no 
outcry  of  surprise  when  he  took  the  last  great  step. 

And  he  did  not  play  his  part  badly.  He  had  changed  won- 
derfully; the  father's  shrewdness  and  cleverness  had  cropped 
up  in  him,  and  aided  by  a  better  education  and  knowledge  of 
the  world,  bore  him  along. 

In  the  matter  of  the  hospital  and  the  hounds  he  had  been 
careful  not  to  push  himself  forward,  but  had  assumed  a 
modesty  so  well  as  to  deceive  everybody,  even  these  great  folk 
who  naturally  regarded  him  with  suspicion. 

The  invitation  to  the  Wraybroughs'  dinner-party  marked  a 
step  in  his  career,  and  he  was  careful  how  he  behaved. 
Though  quiet  and  reserved,  he  did  not  make  the  mistake,  too 
frequently  committed  by  the  "  new  man,"  of  being  timid  and 
nervously  deferential.  He  only  spoke  when  there  was  occa- 
sion, and  spoke  modestly,  but  with  quiet  self-possession,  and 
something  like  dignity,  as  if  he  wished  to  intimate  that  he  was 
quite  conscious  of  the  novelty  of  his  position,  but  was  not 
overwhelmed  by  the  honor  it  conferred  upon  him. 

Lord  Wraybrough  was  not  only  grateful  to  him  for  saving 
the  hounds,  but  was  rather  taken  with  the  young  fellow  who 
had  come  forward  so  quietly  and  taken  a  part  in  the  public 
affairs  of  the  county.  Now  that  he  had  thrown  off  his  foolish 
Oxford  affectations,  there  was  not  so  very  much  the  matter 
with  Mordaunt's  manners,  and  the  gravity,  unusual  in  so 
young  a  man,  was  rather  taking. 

Lord  Wraybrough,  already  prepossessed  in  his  favor, 
almost  liked  him — almost;  for  there  was  something  inde- 
finable in  the  not  bad-looking  face,  which,  so  to  speak,  put 


153  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT   REGNA. 

people  on  their  guard — and,  when  the  ladies  had  left,  he  took 
care  to  draw  Mordaunt  into  the  conversation. 

An  alteration  in  the  game  laws  came  under  discussion,  and 
Mordaunt,  who  had  luckily  been  "  reading  up  "  the  proposed 
bill,  talked  about  it  sensibly,  and  the  rest  of  the  men  listened 
with  the  well-bred,  unaffected  attention  of  their  class. 

Lord  Chester — perhaps  remembering  his  conversation  with 
Claire — remarked,  with  a  smile: 

"  You  have  stated  the  case  very  clearly,  Mr.  Sapley  " — he 
could  not  have  omitted  the  "  Mr."  if  his  life  had  depended 
upon  it,  but  Mordaunt,  though  he  winced  inwardly,  showed 
no  outward  sign — "  and  I  quite  agree  with  you.  With  you,  I 
can't  see  how  it  would  benefit  the  workingman  to  throw  open 
the  preserves  to  every  man  who  chose  to  take  out  a  game 
license." 

"  Dash  it  all,  no!  I  should  think  not!"  exclaimed  one  of 
the  county  squires.  "  If  there  were  no  game  there  would  be 
no  keepers,  no  shooting  to  let,  no  shooting-tenant  to  spend 
money.  I'm  getting  rather  tired  of  the  '  workingman '  cry, 
and  I  should  like  to  see  something  done  for  the  poor  gentle- 
men." 

"  That  will  come  when  we  are  quite  ruined,  Heathcote," 
remarked  Lord  Wraybrough,  laconically. 

"  The  workingman  has  the  power  now,"  said  his  brother, 
the  rector,  holding  his  glass  up  to  the  light,  and  sighing. 

"  Educate  him,"  said  Mordaunt,  quietly.  "  Teach  him  to 
see  where  his  true  interests  lie,  and  he  will  use  the  power 
wisely." 

'*  By  gad,  you're  right,  sir,"  said  Heathcote,  staring  at  him 
with  a  kind  of  bovine  surprise  and  approval.  "  You  seem  to 
know  how  fche  case  stands." 

"  You  ought  to  go  into  the  House,  Mr.  Sapley,"  remarked 
Lord  Chester. 

For  the  first  time  Mordaunt's  pale  face  flushed,  but  the 
flush  did  not  last  longer  than  a  moment,  arid  his  small  eyes — 
wonderfully  like  his  father's  now,  shot  a  glance  round  the 
table,  then  sunk  modestly. 

"  Thank  you,  Lord  Chester;  but  there  are  others  who  have 
a  prior  claim  to  that  honor,  to  say  nothing  of  greater  ability." 

The  latter  part  of  the  speech  jarred  somehow,  and  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  silence  which  was  broken  by  Lord  Wraybrough. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said,  thoughtfully,  but  with  a  smile. 
"  Some  one  will  have  to  be  found  to  fill  Barkly's  place;  he 
tells  me  he  will  not  stand  again." 

"Then  Mr.  Sapley  had  better  think  of  it,"  said  Lord 


THE  MISTKESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  159 

Chester.  The  others  looked  at  Mordaunt  reflectively,  and 
said  nothing.  He  understood  the  look,  but  sat  unmoved;  but 
he  wished  that  Claire  were  present. 

"  Now  that  we  have  started  politics,  the  only  way  of  stop- 
ping us  will  be  to  join  the  ladies,"  said  Lord  Wraybrough; 
and  he  led  the  way  into  the  drawing-room. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

MORDAUNT  did  not  at  once  go  to  Claire,  but  moved  about 
the  room,  talking  to  the  ladies  whose  acquaintance  he  had 
made.  Women  are  less  exclusive  toward  men  than  to  mem- 
bers of  their  own  sex;  and  Mordaunt  always  found  that  he  got 
on  better  with  them  than  the  masculine  portion  of  the  county 
families.  He  had  picked  up  some  knowledge  of  art  and 
literature  at  Oxford — at  any  rate,  he  had  acquired  some  of 
the  jargon  —  and  compared  with  the  county  squires,  whose 
conversation  was  limited  to  sporting  topics,  the  ladies  found 
Mr.  Mordauut  quite  entertaining. 

Some  daring  spirit  had  suggested  a  bazaar  in  aid  of  some  of 
the  local  charities,  and  Mordauut  entered  into  the  idea  at 
once,  and  promised  his  assistance,  both  pecuniary  and  per- 
sonal, and,  before  he  had  left  the  group,  had  succeeded  in 
making  a  favorable  impression. 

"  I  think  him  an  extremely  nice  young  man/'  remarked 
Mrs.  Heathcote.  "  So  intelligent  and  well-informed." 

**  And  he  is  always  so  gentlemanly,"  said  Mrs.  Lexton. 
"  We  see  a  great  deal  of  him  at  the  Court,  of  course/' 

"  Ah,  yes;  one  almost  forgets  that  he  is  the  son  of  Mr. 
Sapley,  Miss  Sartoris's  agent,"  remarked  Lady  Wraybrough. 
"  It  is  quite  extraordinary  the  difference  between  them.  It  is 
wonderful  what  a  university  education  will  do." 

"  And  he  is  so  good-natured,  too,"  said  the  lady  with  the 
bazaar  on  the  brain.  "  He  entered  into  our  plans  at  once, 
and  seemed  so  ready  to  assist." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley  is  the  coming  man,  without 
doubt,"  said  Lady  Wraybrough,  with  a  faint  smile. 

Meanwhile,  Mordaunt  had  made  his  way  to  Claire.  He  did 
not  make  the  mistake  of  seating  himself  beside  her,  but  stood, 
slightly  bending  forward. 

"  This  is  my  first  opportunity  of  welcoming  you  home,  Miss 
Sartoris,"  he  said,  with  a  grave  voice,  in  which  deference  was 
very  neatly  suggested.  "  I  thought  of  coming  up  to  the  Court 
some  days  ago,  out  deemed  it  better  not  to  trouble  you  w^th 
business  haaaediately  after  your  return." 


160  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

Claire  glanced  at  him  rather  coldly.  She  was  still  annoyed 
at  his  action  in  the  matter  of  old  Hawker. 

"  Thanks,"  she  said.  "  But  I  should  have  been  quite  ready 
to  see  to  anything. "  Then,  in  her  straightforward  way,  she 
said,  looking  at  him  with  the  direct  regard  of  her  violet  eyes, 
"  I  am  sorry  you  did  not  write  and  tell  me  of  Captain 
Hawker's  illness,  Mr.  Mordaunt." 

He  did  not  flush  angrily,  as  he  would  have  done  a  few 
months  ago,  but  he  lowered  his  eyes,  and  looked  at  the  em- 
broidered stool  upon  which  one  of  her  small  feet,  in  its  dainty 
satin  shoe,  rested. 

"  Ought  I  to  have  written  to  you?"  he  said.  "  I  did  think 
of  doing  so,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  should  only  distress 
you  without  sufficient  excuse/' 

"  I  should  have  been  glad  to — to  have  helped  him,"  said 
Claire,  looking  straight  before  her. 

"  I  was  so  sure  of  that,  that  I  ventured  to  act  in  your 
behalf,  in  your  name,"  he  said,  "and  I  have  allowed  the 
poor  old  man  a  pension.  I  trust  I  have  not  been  guilty  of 
presumption.  I  feel  now  that  [  ought  to  have  written  and 
asked  your  consent,  but,  as  I  have  said,  I  was  anxious  to  spare 
you  any  distress  and  worry." 

Claire's  face  flushed,  and  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his. 

"  The  pension  comes  from  me,  then?"  she  said. 

"  Certainly,"  he  assented,  with  an  air  of  surprise  at  her 
question.  "  It  will  be  paid  out  of  the  estate.  Captain 
Hawker  quite  understands  that,  I  believe,  and  all  who  know 
of  it.  Have  I  presumed  too  far?  I  acted  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment,  I  must  confess,  but  1  felt  convinced  that  I  should 
have  your  approval.  Perhaps  I  ventured — intruded — " 

In  the  moment  of  reaction  Claire  felt  quite  penitent  for 
having  misjudged  him. 

"  No,  no!"  she  said,  quickly,  and  with  the  flush  deep«uing 
on  her  face,  "  you  acted  quite  right,  and  —  and  I  am  very 
much  obliged  to  you.  It  is  just  what  I  would  have  wished 
done." 

He  looked  relieved,  even  grateful. 

"  I  am  very  glad  of  your  approval,  Miss  Sartoris,"  he  said. 

I  must  confess  that  I  have  been  rather  uneasy,  fearing  that 
I  had  gone  beyond  my  prerogative.  I  am  afraid  that  poor 
Captain  Hawker  will  not  live  long  to  enjoy  your  bounty. 
Nothing  has  been  heard  of  his  daughter." 

He  spoke  the  last  sentence  after  a  pause  of  a  second  or  two, 
and  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  footstool.  "Or  of  Mr. 
Wayre,"  he  added.  Then  he  went  on  quickly:  "  You  will 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  161 

notice  that  Lee  has  cleared  up  the  debris  very  carefully,  and 
that  the  end  of  the  wing  has  been  built  up — roughly,  of 
course,  but  still  sufficiently  to  fill  it  in  and  make  it  sightly. 
It  will  be  soon  overgrown  by  the  creepers,  which  I  hawe 
had  trained  over  the  new  work/' 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Claire.  As  she  spoke,  it  seemed  to  hei 
that  there  was  always  something  for  which  she  had  to  thank 
Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley. 

"  Shall  you  be  at  home  to-morrow  morning?"  he  went  on. 
"  I  should  be  glad  to  see  you  about  the  schools.  They  are  in 
a  very  bad  conditien,  and  I  fear  that  they  will  need  rebuild- 
ing— or,  at  any  rate,  considerable  repairs.  I  learn  from  my 
father  that  Lord  Wharton  always  considered  himself  re- 
sponsible for  them — " 

"  Yes/'  she  said,  promptly.     "  Whatever  is  necessary  must 
be  done.     I  will  be  at  home  to-morrow  morning." 
He  inclined  his  head. 

"  I  hope  you  had  a  pleasant  time  in  London?" 
"  Yes,  very,"  said  Claire;  and  she  found  herself,  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life,  talking  about  London,  the  concerts,  the 
theaters,  and  parties,  with  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley,  as  if — as  if 
he  were  her  equal  and  a  friend!  Even  at  the  moment  it 
struck  her  as  extraordinary. 

He  was  too  wise  to  monopolize  her — he  knew  that  the  other 
men  were  anxious  to  talk  with  her,  and  were  eying  him 
askance — and  presently  he  moved  away. 

At  a  county  dinner-party  the  dinner  itself  is  the  principal 
part  of  the  function;  many  of  the  guests  have  long  distances 
to  drive,  and  the  evening  ends  early.  To  the  last,  Claire  was 
surrounded  by  the  men,  who  made  no  secret  of  their  admi- 
ration and  the  spell  which  her  beauty  and  the  singular  charm 
of  her  rather  reserved  manner  cast  upon  them. 

Mordaunt  heard  her  carriage  announced,  and  though  he  left 
it  to  Lord  Wraybrough  to  conduct  her  to  it,  he  stood  near,  as 
if  in  attendance,  and  ready  to  close  the  door,  or  receive  a  last 
word  from  her — was  he  not  her  steward,  agent?  He  stood  a 
moment  looking  after  the  carriage,  which,  in  its  richness  and 
completeness  of  appointments,  surpassed  any  other  in  the 
county.  The  horses  were  a  superb  pair,  perfectly  matched; 
the  liveries  were  rich  and  always  in  good  condition.  The 
whole  equipage  indicated  the  wealth  of  the  mistress  of  Court 
Begna. 

His  own  dog-cart — he  was  too  cautious  to  start  a  brougnam 
yet — came  up;  and  that,  in  its  way,  was  as  complete  a  turn- 
oat  as  the  Court  Kegna  chariot.     It  was  just  what  a  wealthy 
9 


162  THE   MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA. 

bachelor's  should  be— not  fine  or  gaudy,  but  costly  and  well- 
appointed,  from  the  serviceable  sixteen-hand  horse  to  th« 
neatly  liveried  groom. 

Lord  Wraybrough  looked  at  it  critically. 

"  Nice  turn-out  that  of  yours,  Mr.  Sapley,"  he  said. 
"  Where  did  you  get  that  horse?  Looks  like  a  Yorkshire- 
man!" 

"  He  is  Irish,"  said  Mordaunt. 

"  Ah,  yes;  now  I  look  at  him  again!  A  hundred  guineas 
there,"  he  added  in  a  friendly  way. 

"  A  hundred  and  twenty,"  said  Mordaunt,  modestly.  "  It 
is  more  than  I  intended  to  give,  but  I  only  keep  two,  and — " 

Lord  Wraybrough  laughed  and  nodded. 

"  A  good  horse  is  always  cheap,"  he  said. 

Mordaunt  drove  homeward.  It  was  a  fine  night,  and  he  was 
feeling  that  inward  glow  of  satisfaction  which  your  schemer 
always  experiences  when  his  schemes  are  going  right.  He 
was  satisfied — more  than  satisfied — with  the  evening's  work. 
He  had  dined  at  Wraybrough  Hall,  had  been  treated  as  an 
equal;  and  Miss  Sartoris  had  been  a  fellow-guest  and  witness 
of  his  triumph!  And  he  had  scored  in  the  matter  of  old 
Hawker's  pension — yes,  he  ought  to  be  satisfied!  What  about 
the  county  seat?  Would  it  be  wise  or  not  to  put  himself  for- 
ward? As  he  pictured  himself  "  Member  for  the  N.  W. 
Division  of  Downshire,"  his  face  flushed;  but  a  moment 
afterward"  it  went  pale  again,  paler  even  than  usual — for  a 
man  had  stepped  from  the  hill  to  the  road-side,  and  Mordaunt 
recognized  Jeuks,  the  coastguard. 

He  never  saw  the  man  without  being  reminded  of  Lucy — of 
that  awful  something  lying  buried  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff — 
without  a  spasm  shooting  through  him;  and  the  spasm  filled 
him  with  rage  as  well  as  fear,  for  he  told  himself  that  the 
latter  was  groundless. 

"  Well,  Jenks,"  he  said,  pulling  up  the  high-spirited  horse, 
and  forcing  himself  to  speak  pleasantly  and  carelessly,  "  fine 
night?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  grand  weather.     Have  you  such  a  thing — " 

Mordaunt  laughed  rather  discordantly,  and  tossed  him  a 
cigar. 

"  I  know  your  formula,  what  you  want,  without  asking 
now,  you  see,  Jenks!"  he  said.  "  Good-night,"  and  he 
drove  on. 

When  he  reached  home  he  entered  the  dining-room.  It  had 
become  changed  for  the  batter,  like  Mordaunt,  and  deserved 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  163 

a  more  dignified  name  than  parlor.  He  mixed  himself  some 
soda  and  whisky,  but  only  a  small  glass,  and  inquired  of  the 
neat  waiting-maid — there  were  proper  servants  in  the  house 
now — whether  his  father  was  in  bed,  and  being  told  that  he 
was  in  the  library — for  so  Mr.  Sapley's  den,  redecorated  and 
furnished,  was  now  called — Mordaunt  went  to  him. 

Old  Sapley  was  sitting  in  a  stiff-backed  arm-chair  by  the 
fire.  He  had  altered,  like  the  house,  but  in  a  different  direc- 
tion. He  had  grown  thinner;  the  huge  bones  in  his  face  stood 
out  gauntly,  with  dark  shadows  on  the  sallow  skin;  the  heavy 
brows  had  fallen  over  the  cavernous  eyes;  his  clothes  hung 
upon  him  loosely,  accentuating  the  gaunt  frame.  He  had 
changed  in  a  manner  as  well  as  in  appearance.  A  kind  of 
stupor  seemed  to  have  fallen  upon  him,  and  though  his  brain 
seemed  as  acute  as  ever,  his  voice  had  become  lower,  and  his 
manner  preoccupied  and  absent.  He  had  allowed  the  prac- 
tice, with  all  its  ramifications,  to  drop  almost  entirely  into 
Mord aunt's  hands,  and  he  rarely  saw  any  clients  or  appeared 
in  public.  But  the  most  marked  change  was  that  displayed  in 
his  manner  to  Mordaunt.  It  was  as  if  he  had  grown  to  fear 
his  son.  It  is  certain  that  he  never  opposed  him,  not  even 
when  Mordaunt  launched  out  into  an  expenditure  which  must 
have  seemed  prodigal  to  the  narrower  mind  of  the  older  man. 

He  would  sit  for  hours,  silently  staring  at  the  fire,  only 
now  and  then  glancing  at  Mordaunt.  And  there  was  some- 
thing strange  and  curious  in  that  glance.  It  was  as  if  the  old 
man  were  perpetually  asking  himself  a  question  in  which 
Mordaunt  was  concerned,  and  as  if  he  dreaded  the  answer, 
which  as  perpetually  eluded  him.  He  had  seen  with  keen 
eyes  the  change  that  had  come  over  Mordaunt,  and  noted  the 
rapid — the  extraordinarily  rapid — progress  he  was  making; 
but  it  seemed  that,  if  he  had  not  actually  lost  all  interest  in 
the  ambitious  schemes  which  he  himself  had  started,  he  had 
suddenly  become  content  to  step  aside,  to  efface  himself,  and 
play  the  part  of  a  spectator. 

He  looked  up  now,  as  Mordaunt  entered,  with  the  strange 
question  in  his  eyes,  and  immediately  lowered  them  to  the  fire 
again ,  as  he  said : 

"  Well,  Mordaunt?    Got  back?    Had  a  pleasant  evening?" 

"  Yes,  yes!"  said  Mordaunt,  with  an  air  of  subdued  tri- 
umph, "  remarkably  so." 

He  began  to  give  a  list  of  the  guests,  which  embraced  some 
members  of  almost  all  the  county  families;  and  as  the  old 
man  listened,  he  nodded  his  huge  head,  and  twisted  his  thin 
lip  into  a  smile. 


164  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGNA. 

"  Ay,  a  fine  party!"  he  said.  "  And  they — they're  civil, 
Mordaunt,  eh?" 

Mordaunt  flushed. 

"Civil!  of  course.  They  were  not  likely  to  be  anything 
else.  They  were  gentlefolks." 

"  Ah!  of  course,  of  course!  And  some  of  them  had  cause 
to  be  civil!  Heathcote!"  He  glanced  at  a  tin  box  bearing 
the  inscription,  "Heathcote  Estate."  "Some  of  them 
remembered  where  their  deeds  were,  eh,  Mordy?" 

Mordaunt  shot  an  angry  glance  at  him. 

"  I  don't  imagine  they  thought  of  anything  of  the  kind," 
he  said,  coldly. 

"  Perhaps  not,  perhaps  not!"  assented  the  father,  deprecat- 
ingly.  "  Why  shouldn't  you  go  among  them?  You're  a 
gentleman,  as  much — almost  as  much — as  they  are;  though 
your  father  did  sweep  out — " 

"  Had  you  not  better  go  to  bed?  It  is  late,"  interrupted 
Mordaunt. 

The  old  man  obediently  raised  himself  by  the  arms  of  the 
chair,  and  then  sunk  down  again. 

"  In  a  minute  or  two,  Mordy,"  he  said,  almost  meekly. 
"  Tell  me  some  more  about  it.  Was  she  there?" 

"  She  "  always  stood  for  Miss  Sartoris. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mordaunt,  "  Miss  Sartoris  was  there." 

"  And  she  saw  you  amongst  them — saw  that  you  were  quite 
one  of  them,  eh?  That's  good — that's  good!  We  are  getting 
on,  Mordy!  Lord,  who'd  have  thought  that  a  son  of  mine 
would  have  ruffled  it  amongst  the  best  of  them?  And  you 
can,  Mordy,  you  can !  I  question  if  any  of  them  can  show  a 
longer  purse  than  you  can." 

*° Money  isn't  everything,"  said  Mordaunt,  with  a  frown, 
as  he  opened  his  dispatch-case  and  began  to  examine  some 
papers. 

He  worked  hard  now,  and  with  a  feverish  eagerness  which 
indicated  that  incessant  work  brought  him  some  relief.  It 
prevented  useless  brooding  over  the  past. 

"  Pretty  nearly,"  said  old  Sapley,  with  a  timid  kind  of 
chuckle.  "  Money  is  power — '  * 

"  There  is  some  talk  of  my  standing  for  the  county,"  Mor- 
daunt broke  in,  slowly. 

Old  Sapley  turned  in  his  chair  with  an  exclamation  of  aston- 
ishment and  exultation. 

"  Well,  why  not— why  not?"  he  said.  "  You'll  find  money 
useful  there,  Mordy.  Member  for  Downshire — '  Mordaunt 
Sapley,  Esq.,  M,  P.  for  Downshire.'  Ahl"  He  opened  his 


THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGtfA.  163 

lips,  and  drew  a  long  breath.  "  The  best  of  them  would  have 
to  receive  you  then,  Mordy— even  she  !  Yes.  Stand,  Mordy, 
stand!  A  Conservative,  of  course.  But  it's  risky!"  He 
added  the  word  suddenly,  and  his  face  fell. 

Mordaunt  looked  at  him  impatiently. 

"  Risky — what  do  you  mean?" 

The  old  man  stared  at  the  fire. 

"  A  man  wants  clean  hands  and  an  open  past,"  he  mut- 
tered, as  if  to  himself.  "  They  ask  questions,  rake  up  old 
scandals — " 

The  lines  seemed  to  deepen  on  Mordaunt's  face. 

"  What  are  you  talking  about?"  he  said.  "  What  cause 
have  we  to  fear  any  raking  up  of  the  past?  If  we  sprung 
from  nothing  we  rose  honestly — " 

:<  Yes,  yes,"  assented  old  Sapley,  with  timid  eagerness,  but 
still  staring  at  the  fire.  "  Yes,  you've  nothing  to  fear,  Mordy, 
eh?"  And  for  a  moment  he  glanced  at  Mordaunt  with  the 
curious  question  in  his  eyes. 

"  Nothing!"  said  Mordaunt,  emphatically;  but  as  he 
spoke,  his  eyes  dropped,  and  the  hand  that  held  the  pen 
shook.  "  My  past  is  clean  enough.  You  may  have  had  to 
do  things  in  the  course  of  your  profession — " 

Old  Sapley  shook  his  head. 

"  They  won't  trouble  about  that,  Mordy.  No  one  asks 
where  you  got  your  money — while  you've  got  it  still,  and  are 
spending  it — " 

"  And  it  will  have  to  be  spent,"  said  Mordaunt,  as  if  glad 
to  get  away  from  the  former  subject.  "  I  shall  want  to 
make  a  heavy  draw  upon  the  current  account  this  week.  Is 
there  enough?  If  not,  we  must  pay  in." 

"  There's  enough,  I  think,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  sigh, 
which  he  promptly  stified.  Though  he  saw  the  wisdom  of  this 
large  expenditure,  he  felt  it  keenly. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  said  Mordaunt,  after  a  pause, 
"  that  it  would  be  as  well  if  we  bought  a  larger  house,  with 
some  ground."  He  looked  across  the  room.  "  This  place  is 
small  and  insignificant.  It  did  very  well  until  lately.  The 
Grange  is  in  the  market." 

"  You  won't  want  it.  You  won't  want  two  large  houses  in 
the  county,  Mordaunt?"  said  old  Sapley. 

"  Two?    What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean  the  Court,  of  course,"  said  his  father. 

Mordaunt  flushed,  and  shut  his  lips  tightly. 

"  You  are  counting  your  chickens  before  they  are  hatched," 
he  said.  "  Court  Regna  is  not  mine  yet— and  may  never  be! 


166  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGKJL. 

You  seem  to  think — you  have  hinted  once  or  twice — that  it 
will  be  quite  an  easy  matter  for  me  to  secure  Miss  Sartoris  for 
a  wife.  You  are  mistaken." 

The  old  man  rose  heavily,  and  looked  at  Mordaunt,  hia 
mouth  screwed  into  a  strange  smile. 

"  You  haven't  asked  her  yet?"  he  said. 

Mordaunt  smiled  at  the  question. 

"  Certainly  not!"  he  said. 

"Do  so — do  so!"  exclaimed  the  old  man.  "Why  should 
you  wait?  Ask  her,  Mordaunt — " 

"  And  be  refused — laughed  at — for  my  pains!"  said  Mor- 
daunt, with  a  sneer. 

The  old  man  laughed  hoarsely;  then  his  brows  worked  up 
and  down. 

"  Refused!  Fm  not  so  certain.  Ask  her,  Mordy;  and  if 
she  refuses — why,  come  to  me!" 

He  moved  to  the  door,  his  head  sunk,  his  lips  moving,  and 
Mordaunt,  watching  him,  heard  him  mutter,  with  a  threaten- 
ing growl: 

"  Refuse!    Refuse!    She  dare  not!" 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Two  days  after  the  dinner-party  at  the  Wraybroughs', 
Claire  was  sitting  over  her  afternoon  tea.  She  had  been  for 
a  long  ride  and  had  not  waited  to  change  her  habit  for  a  tea- 
gown.  She  was  alone,  for  Mrs.  Lexton  had  gone  off  to  Lon- 
don to  nurse  a  sick  friend.  Whenever  any  of  Mrs.  Lexton's 
friends  broke  their  limbs  or  got  very  bad,  they  immediately 
sent  for  her  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  equally,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course,  she  hurried  to  the  sufferer.  There  are 
some  women  like  that,  women  to  whom  we  fly  in  time  of 
trouble,  not  because  they  are  particularly  strong-minded,  but 
because  we  are  sure  of  their  sympathy;  and  when  trouble  is 
around,  it  is  more  often  sympathy  than  assistance  that  we 
need.  Job  felt  this;  and  modern  *'  friends  "  are  requested  to 
make  a  note  of  it.  It  is  not  always  the  full  purse,  or  the 
strong  arm,  or  the  wise  advice  that  is  most  required,  but  that 
tender  sympathy  that  is  as  precious  balm  to  the  wounded 
heart  or  aching  head. 

Claire  sat  with  her  feet  on  the  fender  and  sipped  her  tea, 
and  felt  rather  lonely;  the  veil  of  sadness  and  melancholy 
which  had  fallen  on  her  young  life,  though  it  was  often  lifted 
when  she  was  in  society  or  in  the  middle  of  a  long  gallop, 
usually  descended  when  she  was  alone.  As  she  gazed  dreamily 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGKA.  167 

in  the  fire,  she  fell  to  musing  upon  Gerald  Wayre  and  his 
strange  conduct.  The  strangeness,  the  mystery  of  it,  had  not 
become  lessened  as  the  months  had  glided  on,  and  sometimes 
to  her — this  afternoon,  for  instance — there  seemed  something 
so  extraordinary  in  his  behavior  that  she  found  it  well-nigh 
incredible. 

She  allowed  her  mind  to  dwell  upon  him  for  some  minutes, 

then  with  a  faint  flush  of  shame  set  down  the  tea-cup  and  rose 

I  suddenly,  reproaching  herself  for  thinking  of  a  man  who  was 

not  only  unworthy  of  her,  but  the  husband  of  another  woman. 

As  she  passed  the  window  she  saw  a  horseman  riding  up  the 
avenue.  It  was  Lord  Chester,  and  she  stood  haif  uncon- 
sciously admiring  his  upright  figure,  and  the  refined,  clear-cut 
features.  She  had  grown  to  regard  Lord  Chester  as  a  friend, 
and  her  spirits  rose  at  the  sight  of  the  cheery  face  with  its 
bright  eyes  and  kindly  smile. 

"  I  am  in  luck,"  he  said,  as  he  entered  and  bent  over  her 
hand  with  that  old-world  manner  which  must  be  at  once  the 
admiration  and  despair  of  the  young  men  of  the  present  day. 
"  It  is  so  fine  that  I  scarcely  hoped  to  find  you  in!'* 

"  That  sounds  rather  like  one  of  those  things  better  left 
unsaid!"  said  Claire,  with  a  smile.  "  Come  to  the  fire,  and 
I  will  give  you  some  tea." 

She  rang  for  fresh  tea,  and  Lord  Chester  sunk  into  a 
saddle-bag  chair — and  still,  wonderful  to  say,  looked  graceful 
and  distinguished. 

"  You  are  all  alone?"  he  said,  as  he  watched  her  fill  his 
cup,  and  noted  with  pleasure  the  delicate  hands,  the  graceful 
turn  of  the  wrist. 

Claire  explained  Mrs.  Lexton's  absence. 

"  She  is  the  sick  nurse  and  comforter  in  general,  not  only 
of  her  own  family,  but  all  her  friends,"  she  said.  "  When- 
ever anything  is  the  matter,  it  is  '  Send  for  Mary !'  at  once. 
I  am  surprised  I  have  been  able  to  keep  her  so  long." 

"  It  sounds  selfish,  but  I  am  very  glad  you  are  alone," 
he  said. 

Claire  raised  her  brows  and  looked  at  him  with  a  smile. 

"  You 'are  so  rarely  selfish  that  I  readily  forgive  you,  Lord 
Chester,"  she  said. 

"  And  yet  I  am  going  to  prove  to  you  how  selfish  I  can 
be!"  he  said. 

There  was  a  gravity  in  his  voice  and  manner  as  he  bent 
forward,  with  his  arms  resting  on  his  knees,  his  long,  white 
hands  clasped,  that  struck  Claire  as  unusual,  but  she  was  still 
unconscious,  and  the  smile  was  still  on  her  lips  as  she  retorted; 


168  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGHA. 

"  Have  you  come  to  propose  something  pleasant?  I  notice 
that  you  always  apologize  when  you  are  planning  an  agreeablo 
outing  or  impromptu  party." 

He  looked  at  the  fire  and  then  back  at  her.  Her  complete 
unconsciousness  of  his  purpose  somewhat  embarrassed  him. 
Did  he  seem  in  her  eyes  so  old  as  to  render  any  thought  of  his 
falling  in  love  with  her  an  impossibility? 

"  What  is  it?"  she  asked  as  he  remained  silent.  "  Have 
you  been  doing  anything  particularly  wicked?  If  so,  we  must 
send  for  Mary  Lexton,  for  she  is  the  accepted  confidant  and 
sympathizer  with  all  wrong-doers.  Come,  you  are  not  afraid 
of  me,  Lord  Chester!"  and  she  laughed  softly. 

"  Yes,  it  is  because  I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  smiling  a  little, 
but  very  gravely.  "  Miss  Sartoris,  I  have  ridden  over  to  ask 
you  a  question  upon  the  answer  of  which  depends  so  much  to 
me  that  I  almost  shrink  from  putting  the  question." 

The  smile  vanished  from  Claire's  face,  and  she  looked  at 
him  with  faint  surprise. 

"Tell  me,  first,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "do  you  con- 
sider me  a  very  old  man?" 

Claire's  surprise  increased. 

"  No,"  she  said,  candidly.  "  Indeed,  as  you  rode  up  just 
now — "  she  paused. 

"  Please  go  on!"  he  said,  earnestly. 

"  Well,  I  was  thinking  how  young  you  looked." 

His  face  brightened,  then  he  laughed  deprecatingly.  "  I 
am  at  my  best  in  the  saddle,"  he  said,  modestly;  "out  I  am 
glad,  very  glad,  to  hear  that  you  don't  regard  me  as  an 
antique!  I  must  confess  that  I  do  not  feel  that  I  am  an  old 
man;  sometimes  I  forget  that  I  am  not  quite  a  young  one. 
Miss  Sartoris,  I  do  not  know  whether  any  of  our  good  gossips 
have  told  you  the  story  of  my  life — if  so  commonplace  a  life 
can  be  said  to  have  a  story." 

"  No,"  said  Claire.  She  was  still  far  from  guessing 
whither  his  singular  words  were  tending. 

"It  is  told  in  a  sentence  or  two,"  he  went  on,  continuing 
to  look  at  her  with  a  faint  smile,  but  with  a  slight  compres- 
sion of  the  lips.  **  When  I  was  really  a  young  man  I  fell  in 
love.  I  was  very  young,  and  my  cousin — the  late  earl — and 
my  elder  brother,  were  alive.  Young  and  poor,  and  with  no 
prospect  of  the  title,  I  was  bold  enough  to  avow  my  love. 
And  I  was  accepted/' 

Claire  nodded  sympathetically.  It  was  almost  as  if  she  had 
said,  "  I  am  not  surprised!"  aad  tie  looked  at  her  gratefully 
as  he  went  on: 


THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGSTA.  169 

"  The  course  of  true  love  never  runs  smoothly — ours  ran 
very  roughly.  She  was  very  beautiful/'  he  paused.  "  Her 
people  were  ambitious  for  her,  and  considered  her  mad  to 
throw  herself  away  on  the  younger  son  of  a  younger  son. 
She  stood  firm  at  first — at  first,"  he  paused.  "  Then  there 
came  a  noble  and  wealthy  suitor  upon  the  scene.  He  was  an 
older  man  than  I- -a  man  of  the  world  in  every  sense  of  the 
word,  and  notwithstanding  our  engagement,  he  wooed  her 
with  every  art  which  a  man  can  bring  to  bear.  And  in  the 
end — he  won." 

He  paused  and  looked  at  the  fire  for  a  moment,  then  back 
at  Claire  with  a  smile,  as  if  to  show  her  that  there  was  now 
neither  regret  nor  bitterness  in  his  heart. 

"  Her  people  brought  pressure  to  bear — pressure  applied 
day  and  night,  week  in  and  week  out.  You,  a  woman,  can 
perhaps  understand  better  than  a  man  what  that  means. 
She  yielded,  and  accepted  Lord  Wharton." 

"  Lord  Wharton!"  Claire  exclaimed  in  a  low  voice. 
"  But — but  Lord  Wharton  was  never  married!'* 

He  inclined  his  head.  "  I  did  not  intend  to  mention  his 
name,  but  it  escaped  me  unawares,"  he  said.  "  Yes,  it  was 
Lord  Wharton.  I5ut  you  are  right.  He  never  married.  He 
was  an  extraordinary  man — you  knew  him  better  than  any  of 
us — can  perhaps  understand  how,  having  got  what  he  wanted, 
he  quickly  wearied  of  it,  and  ceased  to  value  it.  He  did  not 
marry  the  girl  he  had  robbed  me  of.  One  day  he  sailed  in  his 
yacht — for  Ireland,  I  think;  on  his  return,  after  an  absence  of 
a  few  weeks,  he  went  to  her  and  told  her  almost  bluntly 
the — well,  that  he  had  changed  his  mind.  In  short,  he  jilted 
her  as — she  had  jilted  me.  He  gave  no  reason — there  was 
another  woman  in  the  case,  doubtless." 

"  It  was  poetical  justice,"  Claire  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  You 
do  not  expect  me  to  be  sorry  for  her!  But,  Lord  Wharton — 
I  have  never  heard  anything  of  this,  Lord  Chester!" 

He  smiled. 

'*  He  was  scarcely  the  man  to  speak  of  anything  that  did 
not  redound  to  his  credit,"  he  said.  "  He  paid  the  penalty. 
There  was  dueling  in  those  days — ah,  you  see,  now,  how  old  I 
am — and  he  stood  up  and  received  the  fire  of  the  girl's 
brother,  and  was  wounded  in  the  arm.  The  family  honor 
was  satisfied,  and  there  was  an  end  of  it." 

"  And  of  her?" 

"  She  died  a  few  years  later,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  And  now 
you  are  asking  yourself  why  I  have  told  you  this,  the  onl? 
eventful  incident  in  my  life.  Can  you  not  guees?  When  4 


170  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT 

was  jilted,  Miss  Sartoris,  I  said  that  I  had  done  with  your  sex 
forever.  I  have  kept  my  vow  for  a  longer  period  than  most 
men  keep  their  vows,  and  I  should  keep  it  still — if  I  had  not 
met  you." 

Claire  almost  started. 

"  It's  only  lately,  since  I  have  seen  so  much  of  you,  that  I 
have  discovered  that  though  my  hair  is  white  my  heart  is 
green,  as  the  Irish  say.  I  have  told  you  my  story,  the  reason 
of  my  long  bachelorhood,  because  I  have  come  this  morning 
to  offer  you  my  heart  and  hand." 

Claire  tried  to  speak,  to  stop  him  saying  any  more,  but  ht 
went  on,  quickly: 

"  Do  not  think  that  I  forget  the  difference  in  our  ages.  I 
have  thought  of  it  unceasingly,  ever  since  I  found  that  I  loved 
you.  But,  Miss  Sartoris,  a  man's  love  is  not  to  be  estimated 
by  his  tale  of  years.  There  is  no  young  man  whom  you  and 
I  know  who  could  love  you  more  ardently,  more  devotedly 
than  I  do.  With  a  young  man,  love  is  of  his  life  a  thing 
apart,  as  Byron  says;  it  is  the  whole  existence  of  a  man  of  my 
age.  It  is  the  one  great  treasure  which  he  has  learned  to 
value  beyond  all  others;  you  see,  he  has  tried  and  tested  them 
all.  And  he  knows !" 

"  Lord  Chester — "  began  Claire. 

"  One  moment!"  he  said,  pleadingly.  "  I  want  you  to 
keep  back  my  sentence  until  I  have  pleaded  my  cause.  I 
don't  ask  you  if  you  love  me.  I  could  scarcely  hope  for  so 
great  a  joy  as  that;  but  I  ask  you  to  ask  yourself  if  you  could 
bring  yourself  to  care  for  me  as  a  wife  should  care  for  her 
husband.  If  you  can  answer  *  Yes ' — and  I  know  you  will 
answer  truthfully — then  I  say  that  you  may  trust  yourself 
and  the  future  to  me  without  misgiving." 

Claire  was  asking  the  question  of  herself  as  he  spoke,  and 
was  silent.  She  liked,  respected  this  gallant,  "  perfect " 

gentleman,  his  friendship  was    unspeakably  sweet    to  her; 
ut — 

"  Let  me  say  a  word  of  other  matters,"  he  went  on.  "  That 
I  offer  you  an  unstained  name  and  an  old  title  will  not  weigh 
with  you,  I  know.  The  unstained  name  is  only  your  due — you 
would  accept  no  less — and  the  title  will  not  count.  But,  Miss 
Sartoris,  it  has  been  a  delight  to  me  to  feel  that  the  woman  I 
love  will,  if  she  will  accept  my  hand,  adorn  and  elevate  the 
title  which  she  will  bear.  If  I  win  you  I  shall  have  won  one 
who  will  wear  the  coronet  right  nobly.  Pride  and  love  will 
go  hand  hi  hand  with  me.  There  has  been  no  Countess  of 


THE  MISTKESS  OS  COURT  REGtfA.  171 

Chester,  so  gracious,  so  sweet,  so  worthy  of  her  title  as  you 
will  be!" 

Claire's  heart  beat  with  the  mingled  pride  and  pleasure  and 
pain  his  simple,  dignified  words  caused  her. 

"  I  can  not  offer  you  wealth,  but  that  you  do  not  need.  I 
will  not  speak  of  money  any  further  than  to  say,  if  you  were 
as  poor  as  you  are  rich,  I  should  still  beg  for  your  hand.  In 
a  word,  I  love  you,  and  respectfully  and  humbly  ask  you  to 
forget  the  disparity  of  our  ages,  and  to  be  my  wife." 

Claire's  heart  beat  fast,  and  she  felt  that  her  eyes  were 
filling  with  tears.  It  seemed  so  hard.  Here  was  a  good 
man,  a  noble  man  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  offering  her  the 
honor  of  his  love,  laying  his  honest  and  stainless  heart  at  her 
feet,  and — and  there  was  no  heart  in  her  bosom  to  yield  him ! 
She  longed  to  stretch  out  her  hand  and  say  to  him,  "  Take 
me!  You  do  not  ask  for  love — yet.  1  will  be  your  wife.  I 
will  learn  to  love  you!" 

But  she  could  not.  It  was  all  summed  up  in  that.  She 
could  not  cheat  him  by  seeming  to  promise  that  which  she 
could  not  fulfill.  Her  heart  was  dead  within  her  bosom; 
Gerald  Wayre  had  slain  it  that  moonlight  night,  months  ago, 
and  she  would  not  deceive  this  high-minded  man  who  trusted 
her  so  implicitly. 

"  Are  you  afraid  to  answer?"  he  said,  after  a  long  silence, 
and  he  spoke  gently,  tenderly.  "  Do  not  be.  I  told  myself 
as  I  rode  over  here  this  morning  that  it  was  just  possible  that 
you  might  laugh  at  me — " 

"  Oh,  no,  no!"  broke  from  her  lips  with  a  pained  gesture. 

"  Forgive  me!  No,  you  would  not  do  that,  even  if  I  have 
seemed  a  foolish  old  man;  you  are  too  kind,  too  gentle  to 
laugh  me  to  scorn.  But  I  know  that  you  must  think — well, 
that  I  am  overbold  in  daring  to  hope  that  a  young  girl, 
dowered  with  beauty  beyond  most  other  women,  would  dream 
of  accepting  a  man  old  enough — " 

"  Don't  say  it!"  she  broke  in  almost  piteously.  "  It  is  not 
that.  If  you  knew — but  I  can  not  tell  you!  I  have  been  so 
proud  of  your  friendship;  every  time  you  have  come,  every 
time  I  have  seen  you,  I  have  been  glad,  glad!" 

He  leaned  forward,  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  face  earnestly;  but 
as  she  went  on  they  fell,  and  a  faint  line  came  across  his 
brow. 

"  If  I  could  I  would  say  '  Yes.'  I  should  be  so  glad  to  say 
it.  I  know  what  such — such  love  as  yours  is  worth — I  am 
thrilling  with  pride  that  you  should  have  thought  me  worthy 
to  be  your  wife — " 


173  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT   REGNA. 

"My  dear!"  he  murmured.  "Why  will  you  not  trust 
yourself  to  me?" 

She  rose  and  paced  the  room  in  deep  agitation.  Then  she 
came  and  stood  oefore  him,  her  hands  clasped,  her  head  bent 
meekly.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  she  were  ashamed  to  refuse 
him. 

"  I  can  not!"  she  said,  at  last.  "  Don't  ask  me  why.  I 
could  not  tell  you!  You  would  not  understand!  If  I  were 
to  tell  you  you  would  be  too  proud  to — to  ask  me  again.  You 
would  feel  contempt  for  me — " 

He  started  to  his  feet  and  held  out  his  hands. 

"  Contempt  for  you!  For  you,  whom  I  love  and  honor 
with  all  my  heart!" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  desperately.  "  I  am  not  worthy!  If  you 
knew — " 

"  I  ask  you  to  tell  me  nothing!"  he  broke  in.  "  I  have 
no  right  to  demand  your  first  love — to  know  the  secret  of 
your  heart.  I  do  not  ask  for  your  past,  but  your  present, 
your  future.  Give  them  to  me,  Claire,  and,  trust  me,  I  will 
never  cause  you  to  regret  it!" 

She  almost  yielded,  then  drew  her  hands  away,  which  he 
had  caught  in  his. 

"  I  can  not,"  she  said;  and  there  was  something  in  her  face, 
in  the  tone  of  her  voice,  which  made  him  drop  her  hands 
slowly  and  turn  away  with  a  sigh. 

"  You  will  not  forgive  me!"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

He  proved  his  manhood,  his  nobleness  instantly.  He  turned 
to  her  with  a  smile — a  smile  that  smote  her  more  keenly  than 
a  sigh  would  have  done. 

"  Forgive  yon  for  not  caring  for  me?  Ah,  but  you  know 
me  better  than  to  think  that,  Claire,"  he  said,  taking  her 
hand  and  holding  it — but  no  longer  with  hope  in  his  grasp. 
"  Though  you  will  not  be  my  wife,  I  can  not  help  loving  you, 
and  honoring  you!  If  you  will  not  have  me  for  a  sweet- 
heart," he  smiled  again,  and  again  she  winced,  "you  must 
not  discard  me  as  a  friend.  You  will  let  me  still  be  your 
friend,  Claire — I  beg  your  pardon — Miss  Sartoris!" 

"  No — '  Claire!'  "  she  said,  her  eyes  blinded  with  tears, 
"ttid  she  laid  her  other  hand  over  his. 

"Thank  you!"  he  said,  simply.  "Your  friendship  is 
precious  to  me,  and  I  should  have"  grieved  if  you  had  with- 
drawn it.  Please  forget  as  well  as  forgive — Claire!  forget  an 
old  man's  folly." 

"  Ho!"  she  said,  as  th*  tears  ran  unchecked  down  her 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  173 

cheek.  "  No,  I  shall  always  remember,  always  be  proud  and 
grateful." 

"  The  gratitude  is  for  me,  my  dear/'  he  said,  gently. 
"  Do  not  cry;  I  am  not  worth  a  tear.  You  will  find  that  I 
shall  bear  my  disappointment  without  complaining;  and  that 
I  shall  comfort  myself  with  the  knowledge  that  though  I  have 
not  gained  the  one  woman  in  the  world  for  my  wife,  I  still 
hold  her  for — my  friend." 

He  bent  and  touched  her  hand  with  his  lips,  and  without 
another  word  left  her. 

And  Claire,  as  most  sensible  young  women  would  have  done, 
flung  herself  on  to  a  couch  and  wept  sorely,  more  than  half 
tempted  to  run  after  him  and  call  him  back. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  words  his  father  had  spoken  to  Mordaunt  on  his  return 
from  the  dinner-party  dwelt  in  Mord aunt's  mind.  It  was 
not  the  first  time  by  many  that  the  old  man  had  hinted  at 
some  power  which  he  might  exercise  over  Miss  Sartoris  on 
Mordaunt's  behalf,  and  Mordauut  sometimes  asked  himself  if 
there  really  was  anything  more  in  the  half -implied  threat 
than  an  old  man's  vaporings. 

The  following  day,  having  some  papers  to  which  he  needed 
Claire's  signature,  he  walked  up  to  the  Court.  It  was  a  dark 
and  lowering  morning,  and  the  great  house  stood  out  whitely 
against  the  black  clouds.  Mordaunt  stood  for  a  moment 
before  he  ascended  to  the  terrace,  and  looked  at  the  immense 
building.  Would  it  ever  be  his,  or,  rather,  would  he  ever  be 
able  to  call  himself  the  husband  of  its  mistress? 

The  idea  seemed  preposterous,  even  in  his  altered  and  im- 
proved circumstances,  and  he  bit  his  lips  moodily  as  he  made 
his  way  across  the  hall  to  the  library.  He  did  not  fail  to 
notice  that  the  servants  treated  him  with  a  respect  which  they 
had  never  accorded  his  father,  showing  that  the  fact  that  Mr. 
Mordaunt  Sapley  was  going  to  be  a  great  man  was  recognized 
by  them  as  well  as  their  betters. 

He  went  into  the  library  and  turned  over  the  papers  and 
magazines  which  littered  the  table,  but  suddenly  dropped  the 
one  in  his  hand  as  he  caught  the  title  of  one  of  the  articles  in 
the  list  of  contents.  It  was  "  The  Undiscovered  Murders  of 
the  Last  Half  Century." 

His  face  was  still  pale  when  Claire  entered,  and  he  was  so 
occupied  in  keeping  a  guard  on  his  own  expression  that  he  did 
not  notice  that  she  looked  xeary  and  dispirited. 


174  THE  MISTEESS  OP  COURT  KEGtfA. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Sartoris,"  he  said.  "  I  have  brought 
some  papers  for  your  signature. " 

"  "Yes?"  said  Claire,  listlessly.  She  had  been  a^ake  the 
greater  part  of  the  night  —  will  the  many  sleepless  hours 
women  pass  count  in  their  favor  at  the  last  greai  reckoning, 
think  you? — thinking  of  Lord  Chester,  and  all  she  had  been 
compelled,  in  common  honor  and  honesty  to  refuse,  and  Mr. 
Mordaunt  Sapley  jarred  on  her.  The  old  nobleman's  face, 
voice,  were  still  with  her,  and  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley  seemed 
to  intrude  upon  her  mental  vision. 

"  Here  are  the  leases  of  Moorcroft  and  Westacres,"  he  said, 
spreading  out  the  papers.  "  You  will  see  that  we  have 
granted  them  on  especially  easy  terms!  1  think  you  wished 
that?" 

"  Yes — oh,  yes!"  said  Claire.  She  did  not  "  wish  "  any- 
thing particularly  that  day,  unless  it  were  that  she  had  never 
seen  Gerald  Wayre. 

"  And  here  are  the  transfers  connected  with  Mr.  Verner's 
land.  In  regard  to  that  I  should  like  to  say,  on  behalf  of  the 
committee,  that  if  you  would  not  object,  we  should  like  to 
buy  a  portion  of  the  land  for  the  hospital." 

Claire  leaned  forward  at  the  table,  her  head  resting  on  her 
hand. 

"  Take  as  much  of  it  as  you  want,  please,"  she  said.  "  I 
will  give  it  to  you,  and  be  very  glad!" 

"  Thank  you — on  behalf  of  the  committee,"  he  said.  "  I 
may  say  that  I  expected  that  you  would  do  this," 

"  Yes?  You  see,  you  have  not  monopolized  all  the  gener- 
osity in  the  county,  Mr.  Mordaunt!"  she  said,  with  a  half 
smile  of  indifference. 

He  colored. 

"You  mean — but  it  does  not  matter.  1  hope  you  are  not 
annoyed,  because  I  have — we — my  father  has  taken  an  inter- 
est in  local  affairs?" 

Claire  made  a  gesture  which  just  stopped  short  of  hauteur. 

"  Why  should  I  be  annoyed?"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  I  thought  by  your  manner — 
your  voice." 

Claire  shook  her  head.  "  I  think  1  am  rather  tired  and  out 
of  sorts  this  morning,  Mr.  Mordaunt,"  she  said. 

He  gathered  the  papers  together  instantly.  "  I  will  not 
worry  you,  then,"  he  said.  "  To-morrow  will  do.  I  am 
sorry — •" 

"  Please  go  on,"  she  said.  "  I  am  quite  ready;  I  will  sign 
Anything  you  want." 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGKA.  171 

Hu  opened  the  deeds  for  her,  and  as  he  did  so,  he  looked  at 
her  w'ith  covert  keenness. 

"  Shall  I  make  you  very  angry  if  I  ask  you  whether  any- 
thing ha&  happened  to  worry  —  annoy  —  you?"  he  said,  gravely. 

CJaire  raised  her  eyebrows  with  faintly  indicated  surprise. 
Mr.  Morel  aunt  Sapley  had  never  ventured  to  use  this  tone  to 
her  before. 

;<  Thank  you/'  she  said.  "  You  are  very  kind,  but  it  is 
nothing  that  would  interest  you  —  nothing  in  which  you  could 
help  me." 

"  I  could  not  help  you,  perhaps,"  he  said  in  the  same  low 
yoice,  but  with  a  quick  gesture,  "  but  it  could  not  fail  to 
interest  me.  Anything  that  concerns  you  must  be  of  the  most 
vital  interest  to  me." 

Claire  looked  at  him  with  open  surprise  this  time. 

**  It  is  nothing  to  do  with  the  estate,"  she  said.  "  Do  I 
sign  here?" 

"  I  see!"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  You  regard  me  as  just  — 
your  servant." 

CJaire  raised  her  head.  "  I  am  sorry  if  I  seem  abrupt," 
she  said;  "  but  I  did  not  mean  to  offend  you.  You  really  can 
not  help  me."  She  smiled  wearily.  "  No  one  can  help  me." 

"  Are  you  sure?"  he  said.  "  If  you  would  tell  me!"  He 
paused  and  looked  down  at  her,  his  face  paler  even  than 
usual,  his  small  eyes  fixed  on  her  face.  "  Miss  Sartoris,  there 
is  nothing  I  would  not  do  to  help  you,  no  place  to  which  I 
would  not  go,  no  labor  too  arduous."  He  paused  again  and 
drew  a  long  breath. 

Claire  laid  down  the  pen  and  gazed  up  at  him  with  her  sur- 
prise visible,  eloquent,  in  her  whole  face. 

He  waited  a  moment;  then,  impelled  by  the  thought  that 
he  had  said  too  little  or  too  much  to  stop,  he  went  on. 

"  You  look  astonished  —  surprised.  How  hard  it  is  for  a 
lady  in  your  position  to  imagine,  comprehend,  that  although 
a  man  may  happen  to  be  your  inferior  in  position,  your 
servant  —  as  you  deem  him  —  he  has  the  same  capacity  for  feel- 
ing as  yourself,  that  he  has  a  heart  in  his  bosom  which  a  word 
of  yours  can  pierce,  a  look  can  stab!" 

Claire's  face  flushed. 

"  I  am  not  aware  that  I  have  ever  consciously  wounded 
your  feelings,  Mr.  Mordaunt,"  she  said.  "  If  I  have,  please 
accept  my  apologies." 

He  moved  his  hand,  his  face  as  flushed  as  hers. 

"  You  do  not  understand,"  he  said.  "  The  very  words  yo« 
have  just  spoken  prove  that  you  do  not. 


" 


176  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

Claire  bent  her  level  brows.  "  What  is  it  I  do  not  under- 
stand?" she  said,  turning  the  diamond  ring  on  her  finger 
absently. 

"  That — that  I  love  you,"  he  said. 

It  is  not  too  touch  to  say  that  for  a  full  momsnt  or  two 
Claire  did  not  grasp  the  significance  of  the  words.  She  looked 
at  him  as  one  looks  at  a  person  who  has  addressed  one  in  a 
foreign  and  unknown  language.  Then,  as  his  meaning 
dawned  upon  her,  the  crimson  suffused  her  face  again,  burned 
down  to  her  neck  and  arms,  and  she  rose  and  moved  toward 
the  door. 

He  slipped  in  front  of  her  quickly,  and  held  out  his  hand, 
effectually  barring  her  progress. 

"  Wait!"  he  said,  hoarsely.  "  I  would  take  it  back  if  I 
could;  but  it  is  too  late — I  can  not!  Wait  and  hear  me!  You 
can  not  refuse  me  that!  Not  even  your  pride  will  refuse  me 
that!" 

Claire  stood  and  looked  at  him  with  steadfast  eyes.  It 
flashed  through  her  mind  that  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley  had 
either  been  drinking  to  excess  or  had  gone  out  of  his  mind. 

And  yet  she  had  not  thought  so  when  Gerald  Wayre  had 
declared  his  love! 

"  Let  me  pass — or  say  what  you  have  to  say  quickly, 
please!"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  in  which  outraged  pride 
rang. 

"  Bear  with  me!"  he  said,  huskily.  "  I  only  ask  you  to 
listen.  It  is  true  that  I  love  you,  Miss  Sartoris." 

Coming  after  Lord  Chester's  declaration,  the  words  sounded 
like  an  insult,  and  Claire  could  not  repress  a  shudder. 

"  Oh,  let  me  pass,  please!"  she  breathed. 

"  Not  yet — a  moment!"  he  said,  struggling  hard  for  a  calm 
and  self-possession.  "  I  have  to  speak  now.  Give  me  a 
hearing.  Miss  Sartoris,  I  love  you.  Why  should  you  shrink 
from  me,  treat  me  so  contemptuously!  It  is  true  I  am  not 
your  equal  in  position,  but,"  he  moistened  his  lips,  "  I  am  a 
gentleman;  I  am — " 

"  I  will  not  hear  any  more!'*  said  Claire.  "  You  must 
see —  Oh,  I  don't  wish  to  wound  you,  but,  Mr.  Mordaunt, 
let  there  be  no  more  of  this!  It  is — it  is  madness — I — 
Would  it  not  be  better  to  say  no  more?" 

"  No,"  he  said,  with  a  kind  of  dogged  sullenness.  "  If  I 
had  spoken  to  you  as — as  1  have  done — six  months  ago,  you 
might  have  been  justified  hi  refusing  to  hear  me,  in  treating 
me  with  scorn;  but — but  things — my  position,  has  changed 
since  then.  Please  hear  me!"  for  Claire  had  made  an  impa- 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNAe  177 

tient  gesture.  "  I  say  things  have  changed.  I  have  made 
my  wsql^.o — amongst  your  friends — I  have  gained  a  position 
of  whicUiuy  man  ought  to  be  proud." 

"  I  am  very  glad,  but —  She  spoke  almost  soothingly,  aa 
one  would  speak  to  a  child  or  a  monomaniac,  but  he  broke  in 
with  the  same  dogged  resolution. 

"  It  is  true  that  my  father  is  only  your  agent,  but — but  he 
is  a  wealthy  man.  His  wealth  will  come  to  me.  I  am 
ambitious.  I  have  marked  out  for  myself  a  career — have 
entered  upon  it — I  feel  that  I  shall  rise^  rise  even  above  the 
men  in  this  sleepy,  world-forgotten  place.  My  wife — whoever 
she  may  be — will  share  a  name  which  I  intend  to  make 
famous." 

Claire  took  another  step  to  the  door,  but  he  would  not 
make  way  for  her. 

"  I  intend  to  enter  the  House — I  hope  to  gain  a  name 
there — I  have  the  money,  the  ambition,  the  energy.  I  only 
need  you  for  my  wife  to  crown  my  efforts,  to  share  the  posi- 
tion I  will — yes,  will! — attain.  You  hear  me  with  silent 
contempt,  but — but  will  you  stop  to  compare  me  with  the 
men  you  know?  I  do  not  speak  with  vanity.  1  know  that  I 
am  far  beneath  you,  but  so  are  they  all!  All,  every  one!  If 
you  will  be  my  wife  " — he  passed  his  hand  over  his  brow,  wet 
with  perspiration — "  I  will  spend  my  life  in  giving  you  a 
place  which  shall  be  as  high  above  your  present  one  as — as 
mine  is  below  it!" 

He  stopped  for  lack  of  breath,  and  Claire  was  able  to  speak. 
She  knew  now  that  he  was  not  intoxicated,  but  she  still 
deemed  him  mad — mad  with  morbid  vanity  and  self-esteem. 
So  she  spoke  with  a  careful  modulation  of  her  voice,  with  a 
suppression  of  the  indignation — and  the  indescribable  loath- 
ing— which  threatened  to  master  her. 

"  Have  you  finished?"  she  said.  "  Will  you  let  me  answer 
you?  You  are  wrong.  I  have  no  contempt  for  you.  No 
woman  is  insulted  by  the  offer  of  an  honest  man's  hand — " 

He  winced,  and  shot  a  glance  at  her. 

"But,  Mr.  Mordaunt,  what  you  ask  I  can  not  give.  I  can 
not  be  your  wife!" 

"  Wait!"  he  broke  in,  clinching  his  hands  and  pressing 
them  closely  to  his  side.  "  Do  not  give  m«  your  answer  now. 
Don't  let  it  be  final.  To-morrow — " 

"  If  I  waited  for  an  eternity  of  to-morrows,  my  answer 
would  be  the  same,"  said  Claire,  battling  with  her  pride  and 
indignation.  "  Please  accept  it,  and  allow  me  to  pass." 

"  Why  do  you  hate  me?"  he  said  in  a  low  Voice. 


178  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COUBT  BEGtfA. 

"  I  do  not — "  she  began,  then  stopped;  of  all  things  she 
desired  to  avoid  an  argument  with  him.  "  Is  it  an^ase  our 
talking  any  longer?"  she  said,  with  a  smile  that  ww  harder 
to  bear  than  open  scorn.  "  I  think  you  will  see  thac  a  gentle- 
man accepts  a  lady's  answer — and  accepts  it  without  protest, 
Mr.  Mordaunt." 

"  But  I  can  not!"  he  said.  "  I  know  you  refuse  me, 
because — because  you  still  look  upon  me  as  a  kind  of  servant. 
You  are  wrong!  You  will  lose  nothing  by  marrying  me. 
Times  are  changing.  Such  men  as  I,  rise!" 

"  If  you  rose  to  be  prime  minister — " 

"  You  would  refuse  me?"  he  said,  white  to  the  lips. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  should  refuse  an 
emperor  if  I  did  not — love  him!" 

She  paused  at  the  word;  it  sounded  like  sacrilege  under  the 
circumstances. 

He  bit  his  lip  and  stood  aside,  and  Claire  was  making  her 
escape,  when  the  door  was  pushed  open  and  old  Sapley  en- 
tered. 

He  was  yellow  rather  than  pale,  and  his  huge  lips  were 
•working  as  if  with  suppressed  passion,  while  his  small  eyes 
glowed  angrily. 

"  Half  a  moment!"  he  said,  waving  a  shaky  paw.  "  I've 
been  outside — don't  speak,  Mordy;  leave  it  to  me  now — I've 
heard  every  word.  Miss  Sartoris  " — he  bent  his  heavy  brows 
upon  Claire  with  a  threatening  expression — "  let  me  advise 
you  to  take  that  refusal  back.  Mind,  I  only  advise!  Take  it 
back,  and  promise  to  be  his  wife,  and  I  won't  say  another 
word." 

"  Mr.  Sapley!"  said  Claire,  crimson  with  anger,  "  are  you 
both  out  of  your  minds?" 

The  old  man  showed  his  teeth. 

"  You'll  find  we're  sane  enough,"  he  said,  with  a  kind  of 
snarl.  "  You  heard  my  son's  proposal.  What  is  your 
answer — now  that  you've  got  my  advice?" 

"  My  answer  is  '  No!'  "  said  Claire. 

The  old  man's  face  grew  red,  then  faded  into  its  sere  yel- 
lowness. 

"  You  refuse  him!  You  behave  as  if  you  were  a  princess 
declining  a  beggar!  Do  you  know  that  my  son  will  be  a  rich 
man,  Miss  Sartoris?" 

Claire  was  almost  incapable  of  speech  by  this  time.  "  Mr. 
Mordaunt's  wealth  can  be  of  no  interest  to  me,  Mr.  Sapley!" 
she  said. 

He  drew  his  lips  down.     "  Because  you've  so  much  of  your 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGffA.  179 

own,  eh?"  he  said.  "  You  think  you  can  afford  to  treat  hi* 
proposal  with  scorn,  to  laugh  at  his  prospects?  You  heard 
what  he  said?  Mordy  is  going  to  rise.  He  has  got  his  foot 
on  the  ladder;  he  is  a  good  way  up  now.  I  started — " 

"Father!"  said  Mordaunt,  hoarsely. 

"  You  leave  me  alone,"  snarled  the  old  man;  "  she's  got  to 
deal  with  me  now.  You  think  " — glaring  at  Claire — "  that 
you  can  afford  to  play  the  high  and  haughty;  to  come  the 
county  family  upon  him,  because  you  are  Miss  Sartoris,  of 
Court  Regna,  and  he  is  only  my  son — the  son  of  your  agent? 
You  make  a  great  mistake,  young  lady,  a  very  great  mis- 
take— " 

"  Be  silent,  father!  Let  Miss  Sartoris  pass,"  said  Mor- 
daunt, huskily.  "  She  has  heard  me;  I  have  got  my  answer." 

"  But  she  hasn't  heard  me !"  said  old  Sapley,  grimly. 
"  And  her  answer  will  change  presently.  What  fault  do  you 
find  with  my  son — with  Mordaunt — Miss  Sartoris?" 

Claire  asked  herself  whether  she  was  dreaming.  Was  this 
Mr.  Sapley,  who  never  approached  her  without  a  servile  bow 
and  smile?  She  scarcely  recognized  him  in  this  grimly  stern 
and  covertly  threatening  old  man.  Surprise  mingled  with 
her  indignation  and  anger.  It  would  be  difficult  to  tell  which 
predominated. 

"  Would  it  not  be  better  that  this  discussion  should  termi- 
nate?" she  said.  "  Your  son  has  done  me  the  honor  of  offer- 
ing me  his  hand  " — for  the  life  of  her  she  could  not  help  the 
emphasis  on  the  "  honor  " — "  and  1  have  declined  it.  Surely 
the  matter  may  end  there!  You  and  I  have  been  very  good 
friends,  Mr.  Sapley,  and  I  should  be  sorry  if  anything  were 
permitted  to  interrupt  the — " 

"  You  see,"  said  Mordaunt,  bitterly,  "  she  treats  us  as  her 
servants.  Say  no  more,  father.  We  will  leave  the  Court — " 

The  old  man's  face  grew  purple. 

"  Leave  the  Court — leave  the   Court!"  he  said,   thickly. 
"  Who  talks  of  leaving  the  Court?    Look  here,  young  lady! 
Take  back  what  you've  said,  and  all  shall  go  on  as  smoothly 
and  pleasantly  as  before!"  and  he  twisted  his  lips  into  s^ 
smile. 

Claire  turned  to  Mordaunt  with  a  smile. 

"  Surely,  Mr.  Mordaunt,  you  do  not  combine  with  your 
father  in  thus  roughly  urging  your  suit?" 

"Never  you  mind  him— attend  to  me!"  said  old  Sapley, 
indeed,  roughly.  *'  You  think  his  money's  no  account — that 
all  he's  offered  you  doesn't  signify.  You're  buoyed  up  by 
your  pride — your  county  pride — and  your  money—" 


180  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

Claire  made  a  gesture  almost  imperial  in  its  command;  but 
it  had  no  effect. 

"  You  listen  to  me!  There's  no  hurry!  You  think  you're 
Miss  Sartoris  of  Court  Regna — a  kind  of  queen  in  your  way. 
But  you  make  a  great  mistake,  young  lady!  You  are  a 
pauper  I" 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"  You  are  a  pauper!" 

The  words  did  not  impress  Claire  in  the  least.  She  looked 
at  the  old  man's  sallow  face,  distorted  by  passion,  with  blank 
amazement.  She  had  thought  Mordaunt  mad;  she  felt 
certain  that  his  father  must  be;  and,  indeed,  at  the  moment 
he  looked  like  a  man  whom  rage  and  malignant  resentment 
had  bereft  of  reason.  His  hands  were  clinched,  his  lips  apart, 
showing  his  fang-like  teeth,  his  eyes  glared  with  a  kind  of 
vindictive  triumph  into  hers. 

Mordauut  was  as  much  amazed  as  Claire,  and  he  started 
and  looked  at  his  father  speechlessly  for  a  moment;  then  he 
said: 

"  Father!    What  do  you  mean?" 

Old  Sapley  paid  no  heed  to  him,  but  still  regarded  Claire. 

"  Do  you  hear  what  I  say?  Do  you  understand?"  he 
snarled. 

Claire  found  her  voice.  "  I  heard — yes,'7  she  said.  "  But 
I  do  not  understand.  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  anything  more. 
Let  me  pass,  please!" 

"  You  do  not  understand,"  he  said.  "  You  will  not  go  til] 
you  have  realized  what  I  mean.  I  repeat,  Miss  Sartoris,  you 
are  a  pauper!" 

Claire  mechanically  glanced  round  the  room,  as  if  to  assure 
herself  that  she  was  not  dreaming,  that  the  old  man  who  had 
always  been  so  respectful,  so  servile,  was  really  standing  before 
her  and  uttering  these  strange  words. 

"  You'd  better  sit  down,"  he  said,  pointing  a  shaky  hand 
at  a  chair.  *'  What  I  have  to  tell  you  will  startle  you.  You 
will  want  all  your  strength  and  presence  of  mind,  Miss  Sar- 
toris. Yes,  for  all  your  pride,  you  will  find  the  blow  a  crush- 
ing one." 

Claire,  it  is  needless  to  say,  did  not  obey  him;  but  stood, 
erect  as  a  dart,  and  facing  him  with  steadfast  eyes  and  tightly 
set  lips.  It  was  he  who  quailed  before  the  direct  gaze  of  her 
violet  eyes,  and  he  drew  a  chair  to  the  table  and  sunk  into  it. 

"  You  think  yourself  mistress  of  Court  Regna,  Miss  Sor- 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  181 

toris,"  he  said,  more  calmly,  and  with  slow,  distinct  enuncia- 
tion. "  I  tell  you  that  not  an  acre  of  the  laud,  not  a  house, 
not  a  farm,  belongs  to  you!" 

Mordaunt  uttered  a  sudden  exclamation  and  took  a  step 
forward;  but  his  father  held  up  a  hand  to  silence  him,  and 
went  on  in  the  same  dry  voice: 

"  You  do  not  believe  me?" 

"  I  do  not  believe  you!"  said  Claire,  quietly. 

"  I  am  not  surprised,"  he  said;  "  but  wait.  Do  you  know 
anything  of  your  affairs?  Do  you  know  anything  of  the  con- 
dition of  the  estate  when  Lord  Wharton  died?" 

Claire  was  silent,  but  her  silence  answered  for  her. 

"  No,"  he  said,  with  a  nod  of  the  head  and  a  twisting  of 
the  lips.  "  How  should  you,  when  he  himself  did  not  know 
that  he  was  up  to  his  ears  in  debt,  that  the  estate  was 
mortgaged  to  the  hilt?" 

Claire  did  not  start,  did  not  remove  her  eyes  from  his  face; 
but  he  saw  by  their  expression  that  she  had  grasped  the  sig- 
nificance of  his  statement,  and  he  nodded  and  smiled  again. 

"  He  neither  knew  nor  cared.  So  long  as  money  was  forth- 
coming to  supply  his  wants,  he  did  not  care  where  it  came 
from,  or  how  it  came.  He  never  remembered  that  there  is  a 
bottom  to  every  purse,  and  that  he  had  been  sinking  down  to 
it  ever  since  he  was  a  young  man.  It  was  no  business  of  mine 
to  tell  him;  but  when  I  hinted  at  the  state  of  things,  he  cursed 
me,  and  told  me  not  to  croak.  And  I  obeyed  him." 

He  twisted  his  mouth  into  a  sneer.  "  What  have  such  men 
as  me  to  do  but  to  obey  when  a  lord  bids  them!  I  said  no 
more,  but  let  things  take  their  course.  When  he  wanted  money, 
I  got  it  for  him,  and  as  he  didn't  ask  what  the  getting  of  it 
cost,  I  didn't  tell  him." 

He  paused,  and  looked  before  him,  as  if  recalling  the  old 
days,  the  long  course  of  deception  by  which  he  had  led  his 
master  to  ruin.  • 

"Acre  by  acre  was  mortgaged;  money  was  raised  by 
annuities,  and  by  notes  of  hand,  in  every  way  by  which  money 
can  be  raised,  and  Lord  Wharton  knew  nothing.  He  made 
his  will!"  he  laughed  discordantly,  in  hideous  mockery, 
"  as  if  he  were  leaving  Court  Regna  and  a  large  fortune  to 
boot,  whereas  my  lord  died  without  a  penny." 

Mordaunt  was  beginning  to  understand.  He  leaned  against 
the  paneled  wall  and  folded  his  arms;  but  with  his  eyes  on 
the  ground;  and  yet  he  could  see  Claire's  face,  and,  neeing, 
admire  its  unbroken  calm. 

Mr.  Sapley  drew  a  long  breath. 


182  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA. 

"  When  he  died  you  came  into  possession — into  possession 
of  Court  Regna,  of  the  house  and  heaps  of  money — as  you 
thought.  In  reality,  you  came  into  a  pile  of  mortgages,  a 
heap  of  debts.  You  asked  no  questions,  but  carried  yourself 
as  if  you  had  been  bom  to  it  all,  as  if  it  were  yours  by  right; 
and  I  let  you  alone  in  your  delusion!" 

He  laughed  discordantly  again. 

"  You  little  thought,  when  you  treated  me  and  my  son  as 
if  we  were  a  kind  of  upper  servants,  that  your  pride  was  built 
upon  sand,  that  you  were  balancing  on  a  rickety  pedestal  that 
might  give  way  beneath  you  any  moment  and  topple  you  over. 
But  so  it  was,  Miss  Sartoris,  so  it  was!" 

He  paused,  and  Claire,  speaking  for  the  first  time  since  his 
announcement,  turned  to  Mordaunt. 

"  Is  this  true?"  she  said,  with  not  a  quaver  in  her  voice, 
with  the  calm  regard  of  her  grave  eyes. 

"  I  can  not  tell  you,"  he  said,  huskily.  "  I  know  nothing 
about  it!  I  ask  you  to  believe  that,  until  this  moment,  I  was 
as  ignorant  as  yourself." 

'"That's  true,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  chuckle.  "  He 
speaks  the  truth.  Mordy's  clever,  very  clever!  He  thought 
that  I  had  let  all  the  business  of  the  estate  pass  into  his  hands; 
he  never  guessed  that  I'd  kept  the  true  state  of  the  case  to 
myself.  You  can  believe  him.  He  speaks  the  truth.  He 
knew  nothing.  He  never  imagined,  while  you  were  queening 
it  over  us  all,  you  were  a  pauper — a  pauper,  existing  on  my 
bounty — on  his  father's  bounty!"  Over  Claire's  face  a  wave 
of  crimson,  like  a  stain,  passed,  leaving  her  white  to  the  lips. 

"  Your  bounty?"  she  said,  almost  to  herself. 

"  Whose  else?"  he  retorted,  roughly.  "  Who  holds  all  the 
mortgages,  the  annuities,  the  notes  of  hand,  but  me?  I've 
got  'em,  every  one!" 

He  leaned  back  as  he  made  the  statement,  and,  thrusting 
his  hands  into  his  pockets,  looked  up  at  her  with  a  gleam  of 
triumph  in  his  small  eyes. 

Claire  let  her  hand  fall  on  to  the  table,  and  pressed  it  there, 
as  if  she  needed  its  support. 

"  You?"  she  said,  involuntarily. 

"Yes,  I,  *  Sapley,  the  agent/  Sapley,  you  and  my  lord 
looked  down  upon  as  so  much  dirt;  just  a  man,  a  servant  to 
be  ordered  about  as  you  pleased!  To  be  treated  civilly  one 
day,  and  like  a  footman  out  of  favor  the  next — just  as  it 
suited  his  whim.  Yes,  Miss  Sartoris,  1  am  the  owner  of 
Regna,  every  acre  of  it,  every  house  upon  it;  the  Court  itself, 
those  pictures,  the  tables  aod  chairs,  the  carpet  you're  stand- 


THE  MISTEES8  OF  COURT  RE6WA.  183 

ing  upon.  I've  only  to  foreclose,  and  they  are  mine;  for  no 
man  will  be  fool  enough  to  buy  them  at  the  price  I've  lent  on 
them." 

Mordaunt  said  something — it  was  rather  an  exclamation 
than  a  coherent  sentence,  but  old  Sapley  seemed  to  under- 
stand, and  turned  to  him. 

''Don't  be  afraid!  Do  you  think  I  am  a  fool?  The 
mortgages  are  not  in  my  name.  There  is  no  betrayal  of 
trust!  I  bought  them  honestly,  fairly.  I  bought  every  note 
of  hand  honestly  and  fairly.  No  man,  let  him  be  as  clever  a 
lawyer  as  he  may,  can  find  a  flaw  in  my  claim.  When  the 
estate  is  sold,  I  shall  get  back  the  money  I've  spent.  You'll 
be  my  debtor  still,  young  lady!"  He  nodded  at  Claire. 

Claire  sunk  into  the  chair  at  last.  She  felt  surprised, 
bewildered,  by  the  suddenness  of  the  blow.  But  though  she 
could  not  yet  realize  it,  she  did  not  doubt  its  genuineness,  its 
completeness.  The  old  man's  tone  carried  conviction  with  it. 
She  saw,  every  moment  more  clearlv,  how  the  man,  spider- 
Jike,  had  woven  his  web  round  Lord  Whartou  and  herself. 

"  Yes/'  he  said,  "  like  him,  you  asked  no  questions.  You 
behaved  as  if  you  had  half  a  million  at  your  back.  You  had 
your  horses  and  your  carriages,  your  house  in  London,  your 
dinner-parties,  and  you  never  asked  where  the  money  came 
from.  You  must  needs  pull  down  the  old  wing  and  rebuild 
it!" 

Claire  winced  for  the  first  time,  and  he  laughed  harshly. 

"  Pull  down  the  wing  of  my  house!"  he  said.  "  And  when 
I  ventured  humbly  to  remonstrate,  you  stopped  me  with  that 
infernal  proud  look  of  yours — " 

"Father!"  muttered  Mordaunt;  but  the  old  man  turned 
on  him  almost  savagely. 

"  Hold  your  tongue!  Isn't  it  true?  Do  you  think  I 
haven't  felt  it — that  1  haven't  looked  forward  many  a  time, 

when  I've  borne  their  d d  insolence,  to  the  hour  when  I 

could  pay  it  back?    Pay  it  back  with  interest!    If  you've  no 
spirit,  I  have!    Hold  your  tongue!    This  is  my  business!" 

He  turned  his  cavernous  eyes  on  Claire  again. 

"  You  raised  the  money  by  a  note  of  hand.  She  signed 
that  day  you  passed  the  library.  How  are  you  going  to  pay 
me  that  money  back?  How,  I  ask?  You  can't  tell,  Miss 
Sartoris?  Well,  was  I  right  when  I  said  that  you  will  be  a 
pauper?  Shouldn't  I  be  right  if  I  added  that  you  were  my 
debtor?" 

.    Claire  raised  her  head,  which  had  sunk  under  this 
humiliation,  the  most  crushing  of  all. 


184  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGNA. 

"  If  it  bo  true — I  can  not  pay  you!"  she  said  in  a  loff  v 
as  if  every  word  caused  her  a  separate  pang. 

Mordaunt  drew  nearer  the  table. 

"  Father,"  he  said,  almost  inaudibly,  "  this  that  you  have 
told  Miss  Sartoris  is  so  sudden,  so  unexpected,  that  she  does 
not  realize  it.  You  must  see  that.  Do  not  say  any  more. 
Miss  Sartoris  has  a  right  to  demand  a  full  and  detailed  state- 
ment, in  writing,  of — of  your  claim.  This  must  be  sent  to 
her — she  will  need  advice — " 

The  olfl  man  stopped  him  with  a  grunt. 

"  She  shall  have  it.  I  am  prepared  at  all  points.  She  will 
find  no  flaw.  Everything  is  in  proper  legal  order.  She  shall 
have  the  statement  any  time  she  likes;  now,  if  she  wishes  it. 
She  can  take  it  to  anybody  she  pleases.  I  defy  the  cutest 
lawyer  to  pick  a  hole  in  it.  Court  Regna  is  mine — all  of  it!" 

'Miss  Sartoris  would  like  to  go  now,"  said  Mordaunt  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  Wait  a  bit,"  said  the  old  man.  "  I've  got  something 
else  to  say — something  more  pleasant,  and  that  she'll  be 
precious  glad  to  hear.  She's  a  pauper — she  can  take  my 
word  for  it — and  will  have  to  turn  out.  After  all/'  he 
grinned  malignantly,  "  it  ought  not  to  be  so  hard.  She  was  a 
nobody  when  she  came  here;  she'd  no  right  to  expect  Court 
Regna  and  half  a  million,  and  it  oughtn:  t  to  be  so  hard  to 
lose  what  she'd  no  reason  to  expect.  You'd  only  go  back  to 
what  you  were  before,  young  lady." 

Claire  rose,  but  he  stretched  out  his  hand. 

"  Wait  a  bit.  There's  no  need  for  you  to  turn  out  at  all. 
That's  the  pleasant  part  I'm  coming  to."  He  smiled  and 
nodded.  "  You've  heard  what  Mordy  offered  you?  He 
offered  to  make  you  his  wife.  You  refused  him  just  now — 
refused  him  as  if  he'd  been  your  footman  or  your  groom. 
Perhaps  it  was  only  natural — though  Mordy's  a  gentleman,  fit 
for  any  girl — seeing  your  pride  and  the  value  yon  set  upon 
yourself  as  mistress  of  Court  Regna.  Mistress  of  Court 
Kegna!  But  you  know  the  truth  now;  you  know  that  he's  as 
good  as  you — and  better.  I've  brought  you  to  your  senses,  I 
expect,  young  lady!  Well,  it's  only  right  that  pride  should 
have  a  fall!  But  we — Mordy  and  I — bear  no  malice.  We'll 
forget  and  forgive." 

He  nodded  and  showed  his  fangs  in  what  he  intended  for  a 
conciliatory  smile.  "  Take  back  that  refusal,  accept  Mordy's 
offer,  and  the  day  you're  married  I'll  hand  him  a  quittance 
for  every  penny  the  estate  owes  me!" 

As  the  old  man  dealt  this — his  trump  card,  which  he  hod 


THE  MISTKESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  185 

held  in  reserve  for  so  many  months — he  leaned  back  and 
rubbed  his  huge  hands,  and  emitted  a  self-assured  chuckle. 
Mordaunt  started  and  flushed  redly.  For  a  moment  it  seemed 
as  if  he  were  about  to  speak,  but  he  checked  himself,  and, 
folding  his  arms,  stood  motionless,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground,  waiting  for  Claire's  answer. 

"  That's  the  way  out  of  the  business,"  said  old  Sapley. 
"  There's  one  way  out  of  the  quagmire,  and  as  you're  a 
sensible  young  lady,  you'll  take  it,  I  guess.  Accept  Mordy. 
He's  young  and  clever,  and,  come  to  the  actual  fact,  he's 
master  of  Court  Regna." 

Claire  remained  silent,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  mean  and 
sordid  face,  never  meaner  or  more  sordid  than  now,  at  his 
moment  of  triumph. 

"  There's  no  need  to  set  all  the  gossiping  tongues  wagging," 
he  went  on.  "  I've  kept  the  secret  of  the  condition  of  affairs 
pretty  tightly;  we  can  keep  it  still.  You  can  have  an  early 
marriage — the  earlier  the  better;  and  just  before  you  start  on 
the  honey-moon  I'll  give  Mordy  a  release  from  every  mortgage 
and  lien  I  hold.  Ay,  and  there'll  be  more  money  when  I'm 
dead  and  gone,  Miss  Sartoris.  Even  if  you'd  still  been  mis- 
tress of  Court  Regna,  you  wouldn't  have  made  a  bad  bargain 
by  marrying  the  son  of  old  Sapley." 

He  paused  a  moment,  then  turned  his  head  to  Mordaunt. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Mordy?  You'll  repeat  your  offer, 
eh?" 

Mordaunt  moistened  his  lips. 

"  Miss  Sartoris  knows  that  I  will  do  so,  that  the  great 
desire  of  my  life  is  to  make  her  my  wife,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  That's  all  right,  then,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Well,  Miss 
Sartoris,  what's  your  answer?" 

He  waited,  as  if  he  were  assured  of  what  it  would  be,  and 
he  nodded  to  Mordaunt  in  a  self-satisfied  way. 

Claire  raised  her  head. 

"  You  ask  for  my  answer,  Mr.  Sapley,"  she  said,  quite 
quietly,  with  a  calmness  which  was  more  expressive  than  any 
expression  of  indignation  would  have  been.  '  You  shall 
have  it.  I  repeat  my  refusal.  If  not  only  Court  Regna  and 
every  penny  I  possess,  but  my  life  itself,  depended  upon  my 
doing  so,  I  would  not  marry  your  son." 

Mordaunt  started  forward,  as  if  about  to  speak,  but  no 
words  came.  Old  Sapley  struggled  to  his  feet,  then  sunk 
down  and  opened  and  ahut  his  lips,  as  if  struggling  to  restrain 
himselt 


186  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGffA. 

"You — you  refuse?  But  come,  come!  You're  put  out  a 
bit.  It's  only  natural.  I  may  have  been  a  bit  rough  and 
hard  on  you — I  dare  say  I  was.  But  I  take  back  everything 
I've  said  that  you  object  to.  I  take  it  back.  Don't  speak  in 
a  hurry.  Take  time.  Think  it  over;  consider  your  position — 
it's  a  devilish  tight  one!  Remember  how  you  stand.  A 
pauper — Court  Regna  gone;  you  turned  out  without  a  penny, 
just  the  clothes  on  your  back  and  your  trinkets — and  I  m  not 
•ure  but  what  I  could  force  you  to  give  them  up!"  He  glared 
up  at  her  threateningly.  "  Take  time.  Take  a  day;  tell 
him  to-morrow;  sleep  upon  it — " 

"  1  do  not  need  any  time,"  said  Claire,  as  calmly  as  before. 
"  Nothing — nothing,  not  the  fear  of  death  itself — would 
induce  me  to  consent  to  be  your  son's  wife.  You  have  got 
Court  Regna — but — I  am  free!" 

The  old  man  sprung  to  his  feet  and  made  a  grab  at  her 
arm,  scarcely  knowing  what  he  was  doing  in  his  rage  and 
amazement.  Claire  drew  back  beyond  his  reach,  the  color 
flooded  her  face,  the  glorious  eyes  blazed  their  woman's 
indignation  and  scorn  upon  him,  and  upon  the  motionless 
figure  beside  him. 

"  Do  not  touch  me!    Do  not!    Let  me  pass!" 

The  old  man  quailed  before  her,  and  instinctively  drew 
aside,  and  Claire,  without  another  word  or  glance  at  him, 
passed  out. 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

MORDATJNT  looked  at  his  father,  and  drew  a  long  breath. 
"  All  this  is  true,  I  suppose?"  he  said. 

The  old  man  had  sunk  into  his  chair  again,  and  was  clutch- 
ing the  arms  and  breathing  hard,  as  if  he  had  not  yet  recovered 
from  Claire's  passionate  refusal  of  the  offer  which  he  had  felt 
certain  she  would  accept. 

"  Yes,  it's  true,"  he  answered.  "  It's  been  the  work  of 
my  life.  I  have  planned  and  toiled  for  .it  day  and  night. 
Gradually,  bit  by  bit,  I  have  bought  the  mortgages,  got  hold 
of  every  note  of  hand.  My  name  has  never  appeared  in  the 
matter— I  took  good  care  of  that!  When  Lord  Wharton  died 
he  had  no  idea  of  how  he  stood;  he  thought  there  were  some 
debts,  some  incumbrances,  but  he  imagined  that  she  was 
leaving  enough  money  to  clear  these  off  and  leave  Miss  Sar- 
toris  a  wealthy  woman.  The  interest  on  (he  mortgages  and 
notes  of  hand  has  not  been  paid  for  years;  the  accumulation 
IB  enough  to  swamp  the  estate." 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  Jg? 

41  You  have  done  the  thing  completely!"  said  Mord aunt, 
grimly. 

The  old  man  nodded  and  chuckled  harshly.  "  I  have!"  he 
said,  as  if  the  praise  were  only  his  due.  "  No  one  suspects 
how  matters  stand;  no  one  would  have  known  if  this  girl 
hadn't  played  the  fool.  Who  is  she,  to  set  her  back  up  and 
oppose  me?  She  came  here  without  a  penny!  You  talk  of 
servants,  she  had  no  right  to  expect  the  money;  what  was 
she,  a  servant!  What  right  had  she  to  expect  Lord  Whartou 
to  leave  her  Regna?  She  was  robbing  the  other  relations!" 

"  That  is  nonsense!"  said  Mordaunt,  curtly.  "  But  she 
has  balked  your  plans." 

The  old  man  showed  his  teeth.  "Not  she!"  he  said. 
"  She  was  taken  aback,  and  got  riled.  She's  as  proud  as 
Satan^-you'll  have  to  teach  her  to  be  a  little  more  meek  when 
you  mai'ry  her,  Mordy." 

"  When!    When!"  exclaimed  Mordaunt,  bitterly. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  said  Sapley;  "  she'll  come  to  her 
senses,  and  pretty  soon.  Give  her  till  this  time  to-morrow  to 
realize  hor  position — to  realize  that,  instead  of  being  mistress 
of  Court  Eegna,  she  is — nobody."  He  threw  out  his  hands 
with  a  scornful  gesture. 

**  And  if  she  should  not?"  asked  Mordaunt. 

"  Then  let  her  go,"  said  the  old  man,  thrusting  his  head 
forward.  "  Let  her  go,  and  we'll  step  into  her  place." 

Mordauut  laughed  scornfully.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "  we 
should  look  well  at  Court  Regna,  you  and  I;  to  be  shunned 
by  every  respectable  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  place! 
We  should  be  regarded  as  usurpers,  scoundrels  who  had 
robbed  her  and  turned  her  out.  What  good  would  it  be  to 
us?  Of  whjit  use  would  be  the  position  I  have  gained  of  late? 
Not  one  of  the  men  who  have  received  me  in  so  friendly  a 
way  would  look  at  me  or  touch  my  hand.  Good-bye  to  all 
my  hopes  of  taking  a  place  in  the  county,  of  making  a  name 
for  myself!" 

The  old  Man's  head  sunk.  "  Is  this  your  gratitude?"  he 
said.  "I've  done -it  all  for  you.  I  might  have  had  Court 
Regna  for  myself  long  ago,  but  I  only  thought  of  you.  I 
should  have  been  content  to  have  gone  on  in  the  old  way;  it  is 
for  you  I  planned  and  worked — for  you,  my  only  son." 

Mordaunt  paced  up  and  down.  "  I  am  only  showing  you 
how  things  will  turn  out,"  he  said. 

The  old  man  drew  a  long  breath.  "Let  me  think!"  he 
said.  "  There  must  be  some  way  of  working  it."  His  head 
sunk  down,  nud  his  hands  worked  nervously  on  the  arm  of 


188  THE  MISTKESS  OF  COURT  EEGNA. 

the  chair.  "  I  have  it!"  he  said,  at  last,  looking  up.  "  I'm 
not  going  to  be  beaten,  after  all  these  years,  by  a  chit  of  * 
girl!  If  she  won't  marry  you,  she  must  go!  Let  it  be  under- 
stood that  we've  bought  the  place;  she  can  give  out  that  she's 
tired  of  it — wants  a  change.  I'll  make  her  an  allowance, 
settle  an  annuity  upon  her.  You  shall  say  how  much.  For 
myself,  I  wouldn't  give  her  a  penny;  she  has  treated  us  like 
dirt,  and  if  I  had  my  way  she  should  turn  out  as  poor  as  she 
came. " 

Mordaunt  shook  his  head.  "  You  don't  know  Miss  Sar- 
toris,"  he  said.  "  You  are  right — she  is  as  proud  as  Satan, 
and  would  rather  die  than  accept  a  penny  from  us." 

The  old  man's  face  worked,  and  he  laughed  incredulously. 
"  Try  her!  Try  her!"  he  said,  mockingly.  "  Women  are  all 
alike  where  money's  concerned.  But,  mark  my  words,  it 
won't  come  to  that.  She'll  take  back  her  refusal  to-morrow, 
and  accept  you  with  a  '  Thank  you,  sir!' ' 

Mordaunt  shook  his  head  again,  but  said  nothing,  and  the 
old  man  rose  slowly  and  stiffly.  "  I  want  to  go  home,"  he 
said,  with  peevish  irritability.  "  I'm  tired  and  upset.  But, 
mind,  I'll  have  my  way.  Either  she  marries  you,  or  leave  the 
Court!  Give  me  your  arm. " 

They  went  slowly  out  of  the  house.  On  the  terrace  old 
Sapley  stopped  and  looked  up  at  the  house,  his  deep-set  eyes 
traveling  from  end  to  end  of  it,  as  if  he  were  gloating  over  it. 

"  I  came  here  a  servant,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  will 
see  you  master  before  I  die,  Mordy!" 

When  Claire  left  the  library  she  went  straight  to  her  own 
room.  Her  heart  was  beating  fast,  her  eyes  were  burning 
with  the  fever  of  indignation  which  Mr.  Sapley's  treatment  of 
her  had  aroused.  For  a  time  the  fact  that  Mordaunt  Sapley 
had  presumed  to  offer  her  marriage,  and  that  his  father  had 
dared  to  threaten  her,  absorbed  all  her  mind;  but  presently, 
as  she  paced  up  and  down  the  room,  with  her  hands  clasped 
in  front  of  her,  she  began  to  remember  the  old  man's  state- 
ment. It  came  upon  her  like  a  flash,  and  she  stopped  and 
pushed  the  hair  from  her  forehead  and  looked  straight  before 
her,  trying  to  grasp  the  fact  in  all  its  significance. 

Most  women  would  have  been  overwhelmed  by  the  sudden- 
ness of  the  blow  and  the  completeness  of  the  ruin  which  had 
overtaken  her;  but  Claire  possessed  more  strength  of  character 
than  most  women,  and  her  experience  and  training  had  been 
peculiar.  If  she  had  been  born  to  the  splendor  of  Court 
Kegna,  she  might  indeed  have  been  utterly  crushed  by  the 
prospect  of  its  loss;  but,  as  Mr.  Sapley  hid.  said,  she  had  come 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGffA.  189 

to  the  Court  a  penniless  girl,  and  that  fact  softened  the  blow. 
But  it  also  enabled  her  more  easily  to  realize  what  the  change 
would  mean.  Though  she  had  never  been  puffed  up  by  her 
accession  to  wealth  and  place,  she  had  valued  both  in  a 
reasonable  way. 

_  There  is  no  woman  alive,  certainly  no  young  and  healthy 
girl,  who  does  not  prefer  a  palatial  country  mansion  and  a 
house  in  town  to  dingy  lodgings;  rich  dresses  and  jewels  to 
shabby-genteel  attire;  horses  and  carriages  to  a  seat  in  a  penny 
'bus;  a  host  of  well-trained  servants  to  a  smutty-faced  slavey — 
or  none  at  all — titled  and  well-born  friends  to  the  companion- 
ship of  the  vulgar  and  ill-bred.  And  it  was  just  this  differ- 
ence, this  terrible  contrast  between  wealth  and  poverty,  which 
she  had  now  to  face. 

It  did  not  occur  to  her  to  doubt  Mr.  Sapley's  statement. 
She  knew  that  he  would  not  have  dared  to  make  it  if  it  had 
not  been  absolutely  true.  And  there  was  no  improbability  in 
it;  it  was  just  what  such  a  man  would  do.  She  remembered 
how  entirely  Lord  Wharton  had  intrusted  business  matters  to 
this  man;  she  herself  had  left  everything  in  his  hands,  had 
never  asked  how  the  money  came  which  she  had  spent,  with- 
out the  least  regard  to  the  amount;  had  signed  papers,  without 
understanding  their  import.  It  was  more  than  probable  that 
she  had  played  into  Mr.  Sapley's  hands,  and  had,  so  to  speak, 
helped  to  complete  her  own  ruin. 

The  blow  was  hard  to  bear,  but  the  fact  that  Mordaunt  had 
dared  to  ask  her  to  marry  him,  that  his  father  had  proposed  a 
bargain  which  would  include  her  acceptance  of  Mordaunt 
Sapley  as  a  husband,  was  still  harder  to  endure.  The  thought 
made  her  cheeks  burn,  and  brought  tears  to  her  smarting  eyes. 
Only  yesterday  one  of  the  noblest  of  men  had  asked  her  to  be 
his  wife,  had  deemed  her  worthy  to  bear  his  name  and  title; 
and  now  to-day,  Mordauut  Sapley  had  dared  to  insult  her  by 
standing  by  and  acquiescing  in  his  father's  vile  proposal. 

What  should  she  do?  There  was  no  one  to  whom  she  could 
go  for  advice.  Lord  Chester  occurred  to  her,  but  she  shrunk 
from  the  mere  thought  of  telling  him  of  the  humiliation 
which  had  been  inflicted  upon  her.  Mrs.  Lexton  was  away, 
and  even  if  she  had  been  at  the  Court,  Claire  felt  that  she 
could  not  have  told  her.  Mrs.  Lexton  would  have  offered  to 
share  her  slender  purse  with  her,  but  "laire's  proud  nature 
recoiled  from  the  charity  even  of  so  close  a  friend.  She 
bathed  her  hot  face,  and  sat  down,  determined  to  face  th« 
situation  calmly.  She  must  leave  Court  Regna. 

Every  moment  she  remained  there  she  was,  as  Mr.  Sapley 


190  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT    REGNA. 

had  so  brutally  told  her,  a  pensioner  on  his  bounty.  She 
living  in  his  house.  Everything  was  his,  the  very  chair  in 
which  she  sat.  The  reflection  caused  her  to  rise  from  it  and 
pace  the  room  again.  She  must  leave  the  Court  at  once.  She 
would  go  from  it  as  she  came,  alone  and  friendless. 

She  asked  herself  what  money  she  possessed.  She  had 
come  to  the  Court  with  a  few  pounds  in  her  pocket;  she 
might  lay  claim  to  these.  Lord  Wharton  had  given  her,  at 
various  times,  on  her  birthday,  and  when  she  had  said  or  done 
something  that  pleased  him,  or  when  it  suited  his  humor, 
various  articles  of  jewelry.  These  she  felt  she  was  entitled 
to.  The  Wharton  diamonds,  the  rare  and  costly  gems,  which 
had  been  left  to  her,  were  part  and  parcel  of  the  estate,  and 
belonged  to  Mr.  Sapley,  and  would  go  with  the  rest  to  pay  the 
money  owing  to  him.  She  would  take  nothing  from  the 
Court  but  the  few  pounds  with  which  she  had  entered  and  the 
trinkets  which  had  been  presented  to  her. 

She  went  to  her  wardrobe  and  chose  the  plainest  and  least 
expensive  dress,  and  put  the  jewelry  and  a  change  of  clothes 
into  a  Gladstone  bag.  Then  she  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  nerving  herself  for  a  last  farewell  of  the  place  which 
she  suddenly  discovered  she  loved  better  than  she  had  ever 
suspected.  With  all  its  splendor,  it  had  been  home  to  her. 
She  had  never  fully  realized  the  importance  of  its  possession; 
but  now  it  had  gone  from  her  she  felt  how  good  a  thing  it  had 
been  to  be  "  mistress  of  Court  Kegna." 

She  went  along  the  wide  corridor  slowly,  and  looking  at 
the  pictures  as  she  passed,  step  by  step  she  descended  the 
broad  stairs.  The  light  from  the  stained  window  fell  in  brill- 
iant flecks  upon  the  white  statuary,  upon  the  gleaming  men  in 
armor,  upon  the  tattered  flags  suspended  from  the  roof.  The 
grandeur  of  the  place  impressed  her  as  it  had  never  done 
before;  the  inanimate  objects  seemed  endowed  with  sentience, 
and  to  be  whispering  to  her  with  sad  and  mournful  solemnity, 
the  pregnant  word,  "  Farewell!" 

She  entered  the  drawing-room  and  looked  round  at  th» 
magnificent  decorations,  the  antique  furniture,  and  the  unique 
bric-a-brac  which  Lord  Wharton  had  collected  from  nearly 
every  country  under  the  sun.  The  richness  of  the  apartment 
had  almost  been  unnoticed  by  her  before;  she  appreciated  it 
now.  From  the  drawing-room  she  went  into  the  dining-room 
and  looked  at  the  carved  panels,  the  painted  ceilings,  the 
great  bronzes  on  their  pedestals  of  black  marble,  the  massive 
plate  on  the  great  oak  sideboard.  Then  she  went  to  the 
stable.  The  mare  whinnied  at  her  approach,  and  as  she  put 


THE  MISTRESS  OP  COUET  REGNA.  191 

her  arms  round  its  glossy  neck,  it  thrust  its  soft  nose  against 
her  cheek,  as  if  it  understood  what  had  happened,  and  that  this 
— the  tears  that  dropped  upon  its  neck,  Claire's  broken  words 
of  endearment  and  parting — meant  good-bye.  She  could 
scarcely  tear  herself  away  from  the  horse  which  had  been  her 
loving  companion  on  many  a  long  and  happy  ride,  for  it  was 
harder  to  part  from  it,  this  living  thing  that  returned  her  love 
with  a  tenfold  interest,  than  from  all  the  grandeur  and 
luxury,  and  stately  magnificence  of  the  Court. 

Her  eyes  were  still  full  of  tears  as  she  re-entered  the  hall. 
Her  maid  was  passing,  and  Claire,  with  a  movement  of  her 
hand,  stopped  her. 

"  I  have  packed  a  bag;  it  is  in  my  room,"  she  said.  "  Will 
you  ask  one  of  the  men  to  take  it  down  to  the  station?" 

"  Yes,  miss,"  said  the  maid.  "  Will  you  have  the  open 
carriage?" 

"  No;  I  will  walk,"  said  Claire. 

The  maid  was  too  well  trained  to  show  her  surprise,  but  she 
noticed  Claire's  pallor  and  her  red  eyes.  "  Have  you  a  head- 
ache, miss?"  she  said.  "  Shall  I  bathe  your  head  with  eau-de- 
Cologne,  or  get  you  a  cup  of  tea?" 

The  girl  had  always  been  kind  to  her — for  servants  can  be 
kind  as  well  as  mistresses — and  Claire  was  fond  of  her.  It 
cost  her  a  great  effort  to  repress  a  burst  of  tears. 

"  No — no,  thank  you,"  she  said.  "  The  walk  will  do  me 
good.  I'm  going  up  to  London — I  do  not  know  when  I  shall 
be  back." 

She  paused  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  took  a  sovereign 
from  her  purse.  "  Sophie,  I  saw  a  very  pretty  bonnet  in  the 
milliner's  window  at  Thraxton;  I  think  it  will  suit  you;  will 
you  get  it?" 

The  maid  took  the  sovereign,  and  crimsoned  with  pleasure, 
and  Claire  hurried  upstairs,  out  of  hearing  of  her  thanks.  She 
put  on  her  out-door  things,  and  then  knelt  beside  the  bed  in 
which  she  should  never  sleep  again.  Then  she  rose,  and 
slowly,  with  bent  head,  left  the  house.  On  the  terrace  steps 
she  turned  and  looked  back,  as  Mr.  Sapley  had  done;  but 
with  what  a  different  emotion! 

She  had  to  pass  the  old  wing,  and  she  looked  afit  with  a 
curious  feeling  of  unreality;  it  almost  seemed  that  the  part 
which  Gerald  Wayre  had  played  in  her  life  was  only  a  dream, 
and,  as  she  recalled  his  words  about  the  difference  in  their 
station,  she  murmured:  "I  am  as  poor  as  he  now— even 
poorer!"  She  glanced  flkJ«ho  cottage  in  which  old  Mrs.  Bur* 


192  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COUKT  REGNA. 

don  was  crooning  by  the  fire,  then  entered  the  small  avenue 
which  led  to  the  station. 

She  had  got  half-way  down  it  when  Mordannt  Sapley  came 
dut  from  a  side  path.  He  was  walking  with  bent  head  and 
his  hands  clasped  behind  him,  and  his  brows  were  knit  and  his 
lips  set  tightly,  as  if  he  were  occupied  with  anything  but 
pleasant  thoughts,  notwithstanding  his  father's  recent  intelli- 
gence. 

As  he  saw  Claire  he  started,  and  his  face  grew  red.  Claire 
would  have  passed  him  without  any  greeting,  or,  at  most,  a 
slight  inclination  of  her  head;  but  he  raised  his  hat  and 
addressed  her. 

"  I  am  glad  to  meet  you,  Miss  Sartoris,"  he  said.  "  I  was 
coming  up  to  the  Court  in  the  hope  that  you  would  see  me." 

Claire  looked  straight  before  her,  her  face  as  impassive  as  a 
statue's. 

"  I  wanted  to  assure  you/*  he  went  on,  "  once  more,  and 
with  all  the  emphasis  of  which  I  am  capable,  that  until  my 
father  spoke  in  the  library  just  now  I  was  quite  ignorant  of — 
of  the  state  of  affairs.  I  beg  you  to  believe  this,  Miss  Sar- 
toris,  and  to  acquit  me  of  any  share  in  the — transactions  which 
have  resulted  so  disastrously  for  you." 

"  I  believe  you,"  she  said. 


you  that  not  only 
had  no  share  in  this  business,  but  that  I  regret  it — regret  it!" 

Claire  said  nothing  in  response  to  this. 

"  I  should  also  like  to  say  how  bitterly  I  regret  that  my 
father  should  have — have  used  such  language  to  you. " 

"  Mr.  Sapley  only  spoke  as  his  nature  prompted  him,"  said 
Claire. 

Mordaunt  bit  his  lips.  "  I  know!  I  know!"  he  said. 
'*  But,  Miss  Sartoris,  you  will  not  punish  me  for  his  offense?" 

"  I  have  no  desire,  no  power,  to  punish  you,  Mr.  Mor- 
daunt," she  said. 

"  I  have  come  to  you,  Miss  Sartoris,  to  make  a  proposal." 

Claire's  eyes  began  to  flash. 

"  I  beg  you  will  not  misunderstand  me,"  he  said,  reddening, 
and  looking  down.  "  I  have  come  to  make  a  proposal  of — 
a — a  business  nature." 

"  What  is  it?"  said  Claire,  calmly,  coldly. 

"  I  have  been  talking  the  matter  over  with  my  father — have 
endeavored  to  convince  him  that  your  decision — your  refusal 
is  irrevocable, " 


THE   MISTKESS  OF  COURT  REGJTA.  193 


"  It  is,"  said  Claire,  as  coldly  as  before. 

He  bit  his  lip  again,  and  shot  a  glance  at  her.  "  And  I 
have  pointed  out  to  him  that  though  we — he — may  legally 
claim  Court  Regna,  it  will  be  unjust  to— to  deprive  you  of  the 
whole  of  your  fortune." 

"  I  have  no  fortune/'  said  Claire.  "  It  seems  that  nothing 
has  ever  belonged  to  me;  that  Mr.  Sapley  really  owned  it 
all." 

Mordaunt  shuffled  his  foot  on  the  ground.  "  I  fear  that  is 
so,"  he  said.  "  Yes,  I  fear!  For  I  need  not  say,  Miss  Sar- 
toris,  that  if  I  had  my  own  way  every  penny  should  be  restored 
to  you.  But  you  would  not  listen  to  this?" 

Claire's  silence  was  a  sufficient  assent. 

"  But  though  you  will  not  consent  to  this,  I  trust  that  you 
will  accept  an  offer  of  an  income  of  a  thousand  a  year.  I 
have  put  it  at  so  small  a  sum,"  he  went  on,  quickly,  "  because 
I  felt  that  you  would  not  accept  of  more." 

"  I  can  not  accept  even  that,"  said  Claire.  "  It  is  a  large 
sum,  Mr.  Mordaunt;  but  even  if  it  were  one  represented  by 
the  smallest  coin  of  the  realm,  my  answer  would  be  the  same. 
Your  father  reminded  me  that  I  had  been  a  pensioner  on  his 
bounty,  a  recipient  Of  his  charity;  do  you  think  that  I  am 
one  to  remain  in  such  a  condition  for  one  moment  longer  than 
I  can  help,  for  one  moment  after  my  knowledge  of  the  fact?" 

"  You  visit  my  father's  sins  upon  my  head,"  he  said, 
huskily.  "  Will  you  not  take  the  money  from  me?" 

"  From  you  !"  broke  from  Claire;  then  she  recovered  com- 
mand of  herself.  "  Mr.  Mordaunt,  no  doubt  you  mean  well. 
I  thank  you  for  your  intention.  But  you  do  not  understand 
that,  though  I  were  starving,  I  could  not  accept  even  a  crust 
of  bread  from  your  hand." 

"  I  seel"  he  said.     "  Your  scorn  of  me  is  so  great." 

"  Say,  rather,  my  self-respect." 

He  looked  at  her  from  under  his  brows.  "May  I  ask 
where  you  are  going?"  he  said. 

"  I  do  not  acknowledge  your  right  to  ask  me,  but  I  will  tell 
you.  I  am  leaving  Court  Regna — forever!" 

He  started,  and  lifted  his  head.  "  You  are  leaving  Court 
Regna — at  once?" 

"At  once,"  she  said,  very  quietly.  "  I  have  no  right  to 
remain  here.  I  have  no  wish  to  remain  there — under  your 
father's  roof." 

He  winced,  as  if  she  had  struck  him.  "  Your  pride  carries 
you  a  long  way,  Miss  Sartorial"  he  c*id. 


/94  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

"  Yes;  it  will  carry  me  beyond  the  reach  of  your  father's 
insults  and  your  persecution. 

His  hands  clinched  and  his  lips  worked ;  he  looked  like  a 
copy  of  his  father  at  that  moment. 

'  You  are  going — alone?    You  have  money?" 

"Yes,  I  am  going  alone,  as  I  came;  and  I  take  with  me 
just  the  money  and  the  few  trinkets  which  I  deem  belong  to 
me.  I  leave  everything  else  to  Mr.  Sapley;  you  will  find  that 
nothing  has  been  disturbed,  that  it  is  all  as  Lord  Wharton 
left  it." 

"  My  God!  it  is  too  much!"  he  said,  half  maddened  by  her 
coldness,  by  the  stab  contained  in  every  low-spoken  word. 
"  1  say  you  shall  not  go!  You  shall  not  go  until  you  have 
had  time  to  think — to  come  to  some  agreement!"  He  took  a 
step  forward,  with  his  hand  outstretched,  as  if  to  actually  take 
hold  of  her. 

Claire's  face  went  white  as  marble,  but  she  did  not  move. 
"  Do  not  attempt  to  stop  me!  Do  not  dare  to  touch  me!  We 
are  within  hearing  of  the  servants.  If  I  call  to  them  for 
help,  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley,  they  will  not  recognize  you  as 
their  master  yet,  and  will  protect  me." 

Memory  is  a  strange  thing.  There  flashed  across  her  mind 
the  scene  in  the  plantation  when  Gerald  had  beaten  this  man 
for  ill-treating  the  dog,  and  she  added:  "  I  am  not  a  helpless 
animal,  to  come  at  your  call,  Mr.  Sapley;  you  can  not  punish 
me  for  not  doing  so,  as  you  punished  the  dog  in  the  planta- 
tion!" 

Mordaunt  shrunk  back,  startled  and  overwhelmed  by  her 
allusion.  She  raised  her  hand  and  pointed  to  the  house. 
"  Go  on  to  the  house,  and  leave  me  to  go  my  way!" 

There  was  something  in  her  voice,  in  her  gesture,  before 
which  Mordaunt's  craven  spirit  perforce  yielded,  and  he  actu- 
ally turned  and  walked  away,  with  the  air  and  gait  of  a  beaten 
hound.  Claire  did  not  watch  him,  but  stood,  motionless, 
until  his  footsteps  had  died  away,  then  she  went  on — into  tho 
new  life  which  awaited  her. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

CLAIRE  went  on  to  the  station,  got  her  bag,  and  took  ft 
ticket  for  Waterloo.  She  had  almost  taken  a  first-class  before 
she  remembered  that  she  was  no  longer  the  mistress  of  Court 
Regna;  and  her  pale  face  colored  slightly  at  the  respectful  air 
of  surprise  with  which  the  booking-office  clerk  handed  her  a 
third. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  195 

The  train  was  not  a  crowded  one,  and  she  had  the  compart- 
ment to  herself.  She  was  too  tired  and  overstrained  to  sleep, 
and  almost  too  wornout  to  think;  but  half-way  on  her  journey 
it  suddenly  occurred  to  her  that  Mordaunt  Sapley  might  fol- 
low her,  or  instruct  some  one  to  play  the  spy  upon  her  move- 
ments; and. though  she  was  not  afraid  of  Mordaunt  Sapley, 
she  had  no  desire  to  have  anything  further  to  do  with  him. 
She  had  relinquished  Court  Eegna  to  him  and  his  father,  and, 
if  it  were  possible,  she  wanted  to  forget  both  the  place  and  the 
men  into  whose  hands  it  had  fallen.  Whenever  she  thought 
of  Mordaunt's  avowal  of  love,  and  his  father's  insolent  pro- 
posal, the  blood  burned  in  her  face,  and  a  choking  sensation 
came  into  her  throat.  Yes,  she  had  done  with  the  old  life  of 
ease  and  luxury  forever;  she  was  going  back  to  the  world  of 
labor  and  poverty  from  which  she  had  sprung,  and  the  sooner 
she  taught  herself  to  forget  Court  Kegna  and  the  position 
which  she  had  .held,  the  better  for  her.  She  sighed  as  she 
thought  how  difficult  it  would  be;  for  had  she  not  found  it 
impossible  to  forget  Gerald  Wayre? 

Instead  of  waiting  till  the  train  got  to  Waterloo,  she 
alighted  at  Clapham  Junction.  Now,  Clapham  Junction, 
though  an  extremely  convenient  place  from  which  to  start  on 
a  journey  to  any  point  of  the  compass,  is  not,  to  put  it  mildly, 
a  very  inviting  place  as  seen  from  the  station,  though  if  Claire 
had  walked  a  very  little  way  she  would  have  found  herself  in 
an  extremely  pleasant  neighborhood,  in  which  are  some  of 
those  delightful  old  mansions,  with  which  the  suburbs  of  Lon- 
don are  so  rich.  But  she  didn't  like  the  view  from  the  station, 
and  she  took  a  train  that  was  starting  from  another  platform, 
and  got  out  at  Streatham. 

Streatham  is,  in  its  way,  unique.  She  saw  a  High  Street  of 
pretty,  red-brick  houses  and  shops,  with  a  wide  and  pretty 
common  beyond,  and  trees  and  flowers  in  plenty.  She  could 
scarcely  believe  that  she  was  only  a  few  miles  from  the  great 
noisy  Babylon. 

A  sharp-eyed  urchin  offered  to  carry  her  bag,  and  she  set 
out  to  find  some  place  in  which  to  lay  her  head.  She  had  to 
walk  some  distance  to  a  more  closely  built  part  of  the  town 
before  she  could  find  a  card  of  "  apartments  "  in  a  window, 
and  when  she  did,  her  heart  began  to  fail  her.  But  she 
plucked  up  courage  and  knocked  at  the  door.  A  young  girl 
opened  it,  and,  scarcely  waiting  for  Claire's  inquiry,  fled  down 
the  passage,  calling  "mother."  A  respectable-looking 
woman,  with  anxious  eyes  and  mouth,  appeared,  and  asked 
Claire  in.  Claire  said  she  wanted  a  room,  only  one  room, 


196  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT   REGtfA. 

and  not  an  expensive  one.  She  could  not  say  for  how  long 
she  would  require  it;  it  all  depended  upon — upon  circum- 
stances. The  woman  eyed  the  beautiful  face  and  the  graceful 
figure  with  timid  suspicion  for  a  moment  or  two,  then  some- 
thing in  Claire's  eyes — and  very  probably  the  presence  of  the 
expensive  bag — reassured  her,  and  she  took  Claire  upstairs 
and  showed  her  a  room.  It  was  small  and  plainly  furnished, 
and  clean. 

"  It's  the  only  room  I  have,  miss — ma'am,'"  she  said,  hesi- 
tating, inquiringly. 

"  My  name  is  Sartoris,  Miss  Claire  Sartoris,"  said  Claire. 
"  I  have  come  from  the  country  to  look  for  employment." 

The  woman  glanced  at  Claire's  dress,  which,  though  plain 
in  form,  was  obviously  of  good  and  fashionable  material,  and 
seemed  puzzled;  then  she  sighed  as  if  Claire's  business  was 
none  of  hers. 

"  The  rent  will  be  a  pound  a  week,  miss,'*  she  said.  "  You 
take  your  meals  in  this  little  sitting-room,"  and  she  opened 
another  door. 

Claire  had  not  intended  to  pay  so  much,  but  the  cleanliness 
of  the  place  was  inviting;  and,  indeed,  she  was  too  tired  to 
continue  her  search. 

"  I  will  take  the  room  for  a  week,  at  least,"  she  said. 

"  Very  good,  miss,"  said  the  landlady.  "  I  will  do  my 
best  to  make  you  comfortable.  I  have  only  one  other  lodger, 
a  lady,  and  you  will  find  the  house  very  quiet." 

"  I  am  sure  I  shall  be  very  comfortable,"  said  Claire. 

The  bag  was  brought  up,  and  the  landlady  got  her  some 
tea,  and  Claire  sat  down  and  tried  to  realize  that  she  was  Tier- 
self,  and  that  the  little  room  was,  at  any  rate  for  a  time,  her 
home.  After  she  had  got  through  her  tea — it  took  her  some 
time  to  get  through,  though  it  was  only  the  cup  that  cheers, 
and  does  not  inebriate,  and  bread  and  butter — she  got  out 
her  writing-case  and  wrote  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Lexton. 

It  was  a  difficult  letter  to  write,  for  Claire  could  not  tell 
her  the  whole  of  the  circumstances,  and  had  to  conceal  from 
her  the  fact  that  she,  Claire,  only  possessed  a  few  pounds  in 
the  world.  She  dared  not  even  send  Mrs.  Lexton  her  address, 
for  she  knew  that  the  tender-hearted  woman  would  leave  even 
the  sick-bed  at  which  she  was  a  ministering  angel,  to  fly  to 
Claire's  assistance.  And  Claire  did  not  want  even  Mary  Lex- 
ton.  She  had  resolved  to  fight  the  battle  alone,  and  not  to  be 
a  burden  upon  any  one. 

So  she  said  that  circumstances  had  arisen  which  necessi- 
tated her  leaving  the  Court;  that  she  had  come  up  to  London, 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  197 

but  did  not  know  whether  she  should  remain  there.  It  was 
very  probable  that  she  might  go  abroad.  She  wrote  as 
lovingly  as  she  dared,  and  as  cheerfully  as  if  her  leaving  the 
Court  so  suddenly  had  been  prompted  by  a  whim,  and  she 
promised  to  write  again  as  soon  as  she  had  "  settled  down." 

Then  she  went  to  bed,  and,  strange  to  say,  slept  soundly. 

The  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  she  went  out  and  bought 
a  newspaper,  and  returning  with  it,  sat  down  to  commence 
her  search  for  that  which  is  so  difficult  to  obtain  nowadays — 
work. 

Like  a  great  many  young  women  in  her  situation,  she  asked 
herself  what  she  could  do.  She  was  well  educated — Lord 
Wharton  had  engaged  good  masters  for  her  when  she  had  first 
come  to  the  Court — she  could  speak  French  and  German 
fluently,  and  play  the  piano  with  a  skill,  and  something  more 
of  the  feeling,  which  most  English  ladies  display.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  it  ought  not  to  be  difficult  to  get  a  governess's  situa- 
tion. She  was  fond  of  children,  and  felt  sure  that  she  could 
learn  the  art  of  teaching. 

She  pored  over  the  advertisements  for  half  an  hour,  then 
selected  two  and  answered  them,  stating  her  qualifications. 

There  were  other  advertisements,  offering  situations  to  lady 
clerks  and  typewriters;  but  Claire  shrunk  from  the  confine- 
ment which  a  clerkship  meant,  and  she  had  never  so  much  as 
seen  a  typewriter. 

She  went  out  and  posted  her  letters,  and  walked  round  the 
pretty  common  until  dinner-time.  As  she  was  going  along 
the  passage  to  her  room  on  her  return,  a  lady  came  down  the 
stairs.  Claire  was  rather  startled,  for  the  lady  wore  the  garb 
of  a  Sister  of  Mercy.  As  she  came  down,  she  raised  her  bent 
head  and  looked  at  Claire. 

Claire  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  pale  face,  with  patient  eyes 
shining  softly  beneath  a  deeply  lined  brow  and  snow-white 
hair;  it  was  only  a  glimpse,  for  the  sister  lowered  her  veil  and 
passed  on  with  head  again  bent. 

Claire  wondered  whether  that  was  her  fellow-lodger,  and 
asked  the  question  of  the  landlady's  daughter,  who  was 
tidying  Claire's  room.  The  girl  was  a  shy,  commonplace 
child,  who  was  called,  absurdly  enough,  "  Queenie,"  though 
anything  less  regal  could  scarcely  be  imagined.  The  absurdity 
of  the  name  was  heightened  by  the  fact  that  she  was  shabbily 
dressed  in  old  finery,  and  that  she  did  not  possess  a  single 

"    TT     » 

"  Yes,  miss,"  she  said,  with  a  Cockney  smile,  half  shy,  and 
half  familiar.  "  That's  the  other  lodger;  she's  Sister  Agnes. 


198  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

Ma's  'ad  'ei  for  years.  She's  a  very  quiet  lady,  and  quite  a 
lady,  ma  says,  though  she  is  a  sister  and  poor." 

"  Has  she  no  other  name?"  asked  Claire,  in  whom  tho 
sweet  and  patient  face  had  aroused  a  deep  interest. 

"  Not  as  we've  ever  'card,  miss.  She's  called  Sister  Agnes, 
and  that's  all.  She  ain't  what  you'd  call  a  regular  sister,  but 
she  works  with  our  clergyman;  she's  orfully  good  to  the  poor, 
and  goes  reading  to  them  and  nursing  them  when  they're  ill. 
Ma  says  that  she  gives  nearly  all  her  money  away,  and  that  she 
leaves  scarcely  enough  to  keep  'erself  on.  She  don't  pay 
much;  but  she  don't  give  no  trouble,  and  she's  that  quiet  and 
gentle-like,  that  you'd  scarcely  know  that  she  was  in  the 
ouse.  It's  better  than  'aving  single  gentlemen.  Them 
single  gentlemen  is  orful!  Mrs.  Brown  over  the  way  'as  got 
one.  He  comes  home  drunk  every  night,  and  carries  on 
dreadful;  sometimes  he  opens  the  winder  and  sings  comic 
songs  at  the  top  of  'is  voice.  You'll  'ear  'im  one  night,  miss. 
Oh,  ma  says,  please  would  you  like  a  tapioca  or  a  rice?  Some 
people  likes  one  and  some  likes  the  other,  and  ma  says  she 
should  like  to  know." 

Claire  absently  declared  for  the  tapioca,  and  Queenie 
departed. 

The  day  wore  away  slowly  enough.  But  the  next  morning 
Claire  saw,  with  a  leap  of  her  heart,  two  letters  lying  on  her 
breakfast-table. 

They  must  be  the  letters  in  response  to  her  answers  to  the 
advertisements!  She  opened  them  with  a  nervous  eagerness. 
Both  the  letters  were  brief  requests  that  she  would  call  at 
certain  addresses.  She  could  scarcely  believe  in  her  good 
fortune,  for  she  had  always  heard  that  there  were  so  many 
applications  for  every  vacant  situation.  It  struck  her  that 
both  notes  were  written  in  business-like  hands,  and  that  their 
form  was  very  much  alike;  but  she  was  too  excited  to  pay 
much  attention  to  this. 

She  could  scarcely  eat  any  breakfast,  and,  putting  on  her 
things,  hurried  off  to  the  first  address,  which  was  in  Trinity 
Street.  It  was  a  private  house  of  good  appearance,  but  she 
was  rather  surprised  at  being  shown  into  a  kind  of  office,  and 
still  more  surprised  when  a  young  man,  who  looked  like  a 
clerk,  rose  from  a  desk  and  asked  her  her  business,  just  as  an 
ordinary  clerk  is  in  the  habit  of  doing.  Claire  explained,  and 
handed  him  the  letter. 

"  Oh,  ah,  yes!"  he  said  in  a  listless  way.  "  Indoor  or  out- 
door?" And  he  opened  the  ledger  and  took  up  his  pen. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  Claire.     "  I  wrote  in  answer 


THE  MISTKESS  OF  COUKT   REGtfA.  199 

to  an  advertisement  asking  for  a  governess  in  the  family  of 
a  lady.  Does  she  not  live  here?  Perhaps  I  have  mistaken 
the  ho  use/' 

"  No,  it's  all  right,"  said  the  young  man  in  a  tired  kind  of 
way.  "  We  put  the  advertisement  in.  It's  the  regular 
thing." 

'  The  regular  thing?"  said  Claire. 

"  Yes,  this  is  a  registry  office."  He  checked  himself  sud- 
denly, as  if  struck  by  Claire's  innocence,  and  in  a  different 
tone  went  on:  "  Oh — er — that  lady's  suited,  but  we've  several 
other  applications.  If  you  will  give  me  your  name  and 
address,  and  your  qualifications,  I'll  enter  them  in  our 
register,  and  send  you  word  when  we  hear  of  anything  likely 
to  suit  you.  There's  a  fee  of  half  a  crown,"  he  added,  as  an 
afterthought. 

Claire  began  to  understand.  She  was  not  quite  so  foolish 
as  to  part  with  her  half  crown,  but  confined  herself  to  thank- 
ing the  young  man,  and  went  out.  Stifling  her  disappoint- 
ment as  well  as  she  could,  she  took  a  'bus  to  the  second 
address.  Again  it  was  a  private  house,  with  a  well-to-do 
appearance,  and  again  she  found  herself  in  an  office-like  apart- 
ment, and  confronted  with  a  clerk-like  youth;  but  he  was 
inclined  to  be  insolent  until  he  met  one  of  Claire's  direct 
looks. 

"  Situation's  gone,"  he  said.  "  Put  your  name  down,  if 
you  like." 

"  This  is  a  registry  office,  then?"  said  Claire. 

The  youth  grinned,  and  twirled  an  incipient  mustache. 

"  What  did  you  think  it  was?"  he  asked. 

Claire  said,  very  quietly,  that  she  thought  it  would  have 
been  the  private  house  of  a  lady  advertising  for  a  governess. 

The  youth  laughed  again,  and  arranged  his  hair  with  a  be- 
ringed  and  rather  dirty  hand. 

"  That's  what  they  all  think,"  he  said.  "  But  it's  all  right 
enough!  We  do  get  a  good  many  situations  for  our  clients, 
honor  bright!  You  pay  the  fee — it's  half  a  crown— and  I'll 
put  your  name  down  and  keep  a  look-out;  I  will,  really. 
Look  'ere,  I've  got  several  others  before  you,  but  I'll  put  you 
first  on  the  list;  I  will!" 

Claire  looked  at  him  as  if  she  did  not  see  him,  pud  left  the 
office.  Her  heart  was  very  heavy  as  she  went  home,  all  the 
heavier  for  the  hope  which  had  lightened  it  in  the  morning. 
She  wondered  how  many  poor  girls  had  been  deceived,  as  she 
had  been,  by  this  heartless  trick! 

She  bought  several  newspapers  that  evening  and  answered 


200  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT   REGNA. 

several  advertisements  which,  upon  consideration,  she  deemed 
genuine.  But  no  answers  came.  But  she  would  not  despair, 
and  every  day  she  wrote  applications  for  situations  of  various 
kinds.  One  day,  the  begiuning  of  the  second  week,  a  letter 
came  from  a  lady  who  had  advertised  for  a  govermiess,  asking 
Claire  to  go  and  see  her. 

Claire  went,  with  hope  once  more  springing  within  her 
bosom.  The  house  was  in  one  of  the  fashionable  squares, 
and  a  handsomely  appointed  carriage  stood  at  the  door,  which 
a  footman  opened  to  her.  He  conducted  her  to  a  beautifully 
furnished  room  on  the  first  floor,  and  said  that  his  mistress 
would  be  disengaged  in  a  few  minutes. 

The  room  was  divided  from  the  adjoining  apartment  by 
curtains  only,  and  Claire  could  hear  two  ladies  talking.  She 
could  hear  quite  plainly. 

"  So  she  gave  me  notice,"  said  one.  "  Of  course,  if  1  had 
thought  that  she  would  have  flown  into  a  temper,  I  shouldn't 
have  spoken  to  her.  I  shouldn't  have  dared  to  do  so;  though, 
really,  she  was  anything  but  a  good  cook.  I'm  sure  I  don't 
know  what  I  shall  do!" 

"  It's  so  difficult  to  get  a  cook  of  any  kind,"  said  the  other 
lady. 

'  Yes,"  assented  the  first.  "  And  they  ask  such  wages!  I 
give  this  one  twenty -eight  pounds  a  year. 

In  her  advertisement  for  a  governness  she  had  offered 
twenty-five. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  will  have  to  give  more  than  that,"  said  her 
friend.  "  You  won't  get  anything  decent  under  thirty 
pounds. " 

Claire  listened  with  a  sad  smile,  that  was  also  just  a  little 
bitter.  Presently  the  visitor  took  her  departure,  and  Claire 
was  shown  into  the  other  room. 

Her  interview  with  the  lady  was  a  brief  one.  It  appeared 
that  what  she  wanted  was  a  lady  who  could  teach  English, 
French,  Latin,  the  piano,  and  the  violin  to  three  girls  and  two 
boys.  Claire  was  prepared  to  undertake  the  English,  the 
French,  and  even  the  piano,  but,  alas!  she  did  not  know 
Latin  or  the  violin;  and  the  lady,  who  appeared  to  be  quite 
surprised  by  such  phenomenal  ignorance  on  the  part  cf  ar.y 
one  applying  for  the  position  of  governess,  rather  curtly 
declined  such  insufficient  services. 

The  tears  were  very  near  Claire's  eyes  as  she  left  the  house. 
Then,  suddenly  she  remembered  the  story  of  Gerald's  struggles, 
as  he  had  told  them  to  her  that  morning  outside  the  chapel. 
Surely  a  woman  ought  to  possess  as  much  courage  as  a  man! 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COUET  REGNA.  201 

She  would  not  give  way  to  despair  and  own  herself  van- 
quished. There  must  be  some  work  for  a  woman  to  do,  if 
she  could  only  find  it.  If  she  could  only  find  it!  She  was 
sitting  over  her  tea,  with  a  bad  headache  and  a  worse  heart- 
ache, and  was  counting  over  what  remained  of  her  money, 
when  Queenie  came  in  with  some  more  hot  water. 

"  You're  home  earlier  than  usual,  Queenie,"  said  Claire, 
for  the  sake  of  saying  something. 

"  Yes,  miss/'  said  the  girl.  "  One  of  our  teachers  is  ill, 
and  the  'ead  mistress  dismissed  the  school  half  an  hour 
earlier,  'cos  she  'ad  to  do  all  the  work.  She  was  a'most 
worried  to  death,  the  other  teacher  going  so  sudden  like.  I 
don't  know  what  she'll  do  to-morrer,  I'm  sure.  They  say 
the  other  teacher  is  very  bad  indeed,  and  that  she  won't  be 
able  to  come  back  to  the  school  even  if  she  gets  better.  I'm 
sorry;  for  she  wasn't  so  'ard  as  Miss  Gover,  the  'ead  mis- 
tress." 

An  idea  occurred  to  Claire.  It  is  wonderful  how  quickly 
ideas  come  when  necessity  sharpens  the  wits! 

"  That  large  red  building  at  the  end  of  the  street  is  your 
school,  isn't  it,  Queenie?"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  miss,"  said  Queenie.  "  Was  you  thinking  of  apply- 
ing for  the  place,  miss?"  she  added  with  Cockney  sharpness. 

"  Yes,  that  was  just  what  1  was  thinking  of  doing,"  said 
Claire. 

"  Then  I'd  go  at  once,  miss,"  said  the  girl,  shrewdly. 
"  There'll  be  hundreds  and  shoals  directly  they  know  there's 
a  vacancy!" 

"  I'll  go  at  once,"  said  Claire;  and  she  put  on  her  hat  and 
jacket  and  started  there  and  then. 

CHAPTER  XXVL 

THE  school-house  door  was  ajar,  and  receiving  a  sharp  little 
"Come  in!"  in  answer  to  her  knock,  Claire  entered  the 
large  school-room.  For  a  moment  or  two  she  could  not  see 
from  whom  the  "  Come  in!"  had  proceeded;  then  she  saw, 
seated  at  a  table  in  a  distant  corner,  a  tiny  little  woman,  with 
dark  and  piercing  eyes  shining  from  a  pale,  overworked  face. 
A  heap  of  exercise-books  lay  on  the  table  before  her,  and  it 
was  evident  that  she  was  hard  at  work  correcting  them,  and 
did  not  welcome  the  interruption. 

Strangely  enough,  Claire  felt  more  nervous  in  the  presence 
of  this  little  creature  with  the  sharp  eyes  and  sallow  face  than 
she  had  felt  during  all  her  interviews  with  employers  of  a 


202  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

higher  station.  There  was  something  disconcerting  in  thJ 
steady  scrutiny,  which  seemed,  so  to  speak,  to  take  Claire  to 
pieces  and  examine  her  microscopically. 

"  I  wish  to  see  Miss  Gover,"  she  said,  though  she  felt  sure 
that,  notwithstanding  her  elfish  appearance,  chis  must  be  the 
head  mistress. 

"  I  am  Miss  Gover,"  was  the  response  in  a  sharp,  clear, 
decisive  voice. 

"  I  heard  that  you  were  in  want  of  an  under-teacher,"  said 
Claire. 

A  faint  astonishment  showed  itself  in  Miss  Governs  face. 

"  Will  you  take  a  seat?"  she  said.  "  How  did  you  hear 
this?" 

Claire  felt  as  if  she  were  a  school-girl  again,  coming  up  for 
punishment. 

"  I  heard  it  from  my  landlady's — Mrs.  Holland's — little 
girl.  I  only  heard  it  five  minutes  ago,  and  I  ventured  to 
come  here  at  once,  because  1  hoped  that  you  would  allow  me 
to  take  the  under-teacher's  place  until  she  got  better." 

"  She  will  never  get  better,"  said  Miss  Gover  in  a  low 
voice.  "  But  that's  not  the  question.  Will  you  tell  me  your 
name?" 

Claire  told  her.  Miss  Gover  wrote  it  down  on  a  slip  of 
paper. 

"  What  certificates  have  you?"  she  asked. 

"  I  have  none,"  said  Claire,  her  heart  sinking. 

"  No  certificate?"  said  Miss  Gover,  rising.  Claire  rose, 
too.  "  Where  have  you  been  teaching?" 

"  I  have  never  taught,"  said  Claire. 

Miss  Gover  looked  at  her  curiously. 

"  You  seem  to  be  very  ignorant  of  the  qualifications  that 
are  necessary  for  a  school-teacher  nowadays.  This  is  not  a 
Board  School,  but  a  teacher  has  to  hold  a  certificate,  all  the 
same.  Did  you  not  know  this?" 

Claire  felt  that  her  eyes  were  beginning  to  fill  with  tears. 
But  she  fought  against  them,  and  even  smiled. 

"  I  ought  to  have  known  it,"  she  said.  "  I  ought  to  have 
remembered;  but  I  didn't  stop  to  think.  I  have  been  trying 
to  find  work  for  so  long,  and  it  is  very  difficult  to  obtain. 
There  are  so  many  things  wanted.  And  when  one  is  poor  one 
grasps  at  the  least  chance." 

Miss  Gover  looked  at  Claire,  and  in  the  glance  seemed  to 
take  in  every  detail  of  her  dress. 

"  You've  not  always  been  poor?"  she  said.  "  But  I  beg 
your  pardon!" 


THE  MISTKESS  OP  COUET  REG1TA.  203 

'*  There  is  no  need/'  said  Claire,  gently.  "  No,  I've  not 
always  been  poor.  It  is  only  lately.  You  will  forgive  me  for 
troubling  you.  I  see  now  how  presumptuous  it  was!  I  must 
not  keep  you  from  your  work  any  longer." 

Ths  beautiful  face,  the  sweet,  musical  and  beautiful  voice, 
had  their  effect  upon  the  sharp  but  kind-hearted  little  mis- 
tress. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  she  said.  "  Please  sit  down;"  and  shfl 
pointed  to  a  chair,  as  if  Claire  were  one  of  her  school-girls. 

"What  is  it  you  think  you  can  teach?" 

Claire  said,  quite  humbly — fancy  Claire  Sartoris,  the  mis- 
tress of  Court  Regna,  humble — that  she  thought  she  could 
teach  English,  French,  German,  and  music. 

Miss  Gover  nodded. 

"  That  would  be  more  than  enough,"  she  said;  "  but  there 
is  still  the  difficulty  of  the  certificate.  I  could  nofc  engage  the 
most  capable  person  in  the  world  if  she  had  not  passed  the 
necessary  examination.  I  am  very  sorry,  because  I  should 
like  to  take  you/' 

Claire  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  she  looked  up  quickly. 

"  You  mean  that  I  could  not  be  a  paid  teacher,"  she  said. 
"  Yes,  I  quite  understand;  but  would  you — would  you  let  me 
come  and  help  you,  without  receiving  a  salary?" 

Miss  Gover  looked  at  her. 

"  What  good  would  that  do  you?"  she  said,  briskly. 

"  It  would  do  me  a  very  great  deal  of  good,"  said  Claire. 
*'  It  would  mean  work — something  to  do,  something  to  keep 
me  from  thinking  and  brooding."  She  stopped  and  pressed 
her  lips  together.  "  And  I  should  be  gaining  experience. 
Perhaps,  while  I  am  here,  trying  to  help  you,  I  might  endeavor 
to  pass  this  examination.  Then,  if  this  poor  girl  should  not 
recover — but,  indeed,  I  hope  she  may!" 

Miss  Gover  shook  her  head. 

"  It  doesn't  sound  fair,"  she  said. 

"  Please  do  not  refuse  me,"  pleaded  Claire.  "  1  will  try 
my  very  hardest  to  be  of  use  to  you.  I  am  very  strong,  and 
not  easily  tired,  and  I  am  fond  of  children;  I  will  do  what- 
ever you  tell  me,  and  I  will  promise  not  to  be  disappointed, 
or,  at  any  rate,  not  to  make  it  hard  for  you  to  get  nd  of  me 
if  you  should  find  I  can  not  help  you." 

The  little  woman  leaned  her  head  upon  her  hand  and  looked 
at  Claire  strangely.  The  humility  of  this  beautiful  girl, 
whose  air  and  carriage  so  plainly  proclaimed  the  lady,  touched 
her  acutely. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  she  said.     "  Of  course  I  an 


304  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COUET  REGXA. 

answerable  to  my  Board  of  Management.  But  I  imagine," 
with  a  little  smile,  "  they  will  not  object  to  my  getting  an 
assistant  so  cheaply.  Well,  I  will  risk  it.  You  may  come.'* 

Claire's  face  flushed. 

"  How  can  I  thank  you?"  she  faltered. 

"  I  will  help  you  with  your  examination,"  continued  Miss 
Gover,  "  and  if  you  should  pass — and  it  isn't  very  difficult  for 
an  educated  woman — I  will  do  my  best  to  procure  you  the 
situation.  Fortunately  for  you,  we  have  no  pupil  teachers  for 
the  present,  or  of  course  I  should  have  to  give  one  of  them 
the  chance." 

Claire  murmured  her  thanks  again. 

"  Let  me  see,  Mrs.  Holland's  is  No.  29,  isn't  it?"  said 
Miss  Gover.  "  Now,  will  you  give  me  a  couple  of  references, 
please?" 

Claire's  face  flushed,  and  then  went  pale. 

"  Eeferences?"  she  repeated  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  am  afraid 
I  can  not." 

The  head  mistress  laid  down  her  pen  and  looked  at  her  with 
surprise,  and  a  shadow  of  suspicion — only  a  shadow,  which 
passed  in  a  moment. 

"  Surely  you  must  know  two  persons  who  would — who 
would  vouch  for  your  respectability?" 

Claire's  lips  quivered  as  she  shook  her  head. 

"No,"  she  faltered;  "I  know  no  one.  I  have  been  very 
foolish  to  come  to  you,  to  forget  how  impossible  it  would  be 
for  any  persons  to  employ  me  without  references.  But  I  for- 
got that,  as  I  forgot  my  want  of  certificates.  I  am — respect- 
able." She  smiled  sadly.  "  But  I  am  afraid  I  have  no  one 
who  would  vouch  for  me." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  I  wish  I  could  tell  you  my  whole  story!  A  week  or  two 
ago  I  was  rich,  or  thought  myself  so;  but  I  discovered,  quite 
suddenly,  that  I  had  been  under  a  delusion.  I  left  my  home 
and  came  to  London.  The  few  friends  I  possess  do  not 
know  where  I  am.  I  am,"  she  smiled  again,  "  proud.  I 
could  not  be  a  burden  on  my  friends.  If  they — one  of  them, 
at  least — knew  that  I  had  lost  all  my  money  she  would  insist 
upon  my  sharing  her  small  means.  I  could  not  do  that.  I 
am  young  and  strong,  and  I  ought  to  be  able  to  earn  my  own 
living." 

The  little  woman  got  up  and  paced  np  and  down,  with  her 
hands  behind  her,  like  a  man — or  a  school-mistress. 

"  What  am  I  to  do?"  rhe  said.  "  I  believe  every  wonj 
you've  said — " 


THE  M1STKESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  205 

"  Yea,  it  is  quite  true,"  murmured  Claire. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  you  come  and  help  me,  and  I — yes, 
I  would  take  you  without  references.  But  what  would  the 
Board  say?  I  can't  do  iti" 

"  I  know!"  said  Claire  in  a  low  voice,  which  she  tried  to 
keep  steady.  "  And  though  you  can  not  let  me  come,  I  am 
very  grateful  to  you  for  wishing  to  help  me — for  believing  and 
trusting  in  me." 

"Don't  cry!"  said  the  school-mistress,  sharply,  as  if  she 
were  chiding  a  girl. 

"  I  am-  not  crying,"  said  Claire,  passing  her  hand  quickly 
over  her  eyes.  "  But  yours  are  the  first  words  of  kindness, 
yours  is  the  first  offer  of  help,  since  I  came  to  London,  and — 
I  will  go  now.  Good-bye;"  she  held  out  her  hand. 

Miss  Gover  still  paced  up  and  down,  with  her  head  bent,  a 
frown  upon  her  face. 

"It  sounds  impossible!"  she  exclaimed.  "Surely  you 
have  some  person — one  person — who  will  answer  for  you?" 

Claire  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  There  is  no  one  to  whom  I  could  apply  without  letting 
them  know  how  low  I  have  fallen;  and  I  will  not  do  that 
while  I  have  a  shilling  left;  I  have  not  many.  If  I  can  not 
get  a  situation  as  a  governess  or  a  teacher,  I  will  find  some 
work  to  do  for  which  references  are  not  necessary." 

The  mistress  sighed. 

"  I  am  very  sorry!"  she  said,  regretfully.  "  Come,  think! 
Is  there  no  one  who  will  answer  for  you?" 

"  No,"  said  Claire. 

"  Yes,  I  will  answer  for  her,"  said  a  low  voice  at  the  end 
of  the  room. 

Both  women  started,  and  looked  round.  In  the  darkness 
which  had  gathered  while  they  had  been  talking,  stood  the 
figure  of  a  Sister  of  Mercy. 

It  was  Sister  Agnes.  She  had  entered  the  room  in  her 
noiseless  way,  and,  unseen,  had  heard  the  last  part  of  the  con- 
versation. She  stood  perfectly  motionless,  with  her  hands 
folded  before  her,  her  colorless  face  as  placid  and  emotionless 
as  that  of  a  mediaeval  saint. 

"  Sister  Agnes!"  exclaimed  Miss  Gover.  Claire  looked  at 
the  black-robed  woman,  who  had  come  to  her  aid,  in  silent 
(suspense. 

"  You  know  Miss  Sartoris,  sister?"  asked  the  mistress. 

Sister  Agnes  came  slowly  toward  them. 

"  I  will  answer  for  her,"  she  caid.     "  I  know  nothing  of 


206  THE   MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

her  history,  but  I  live  in  the  same  house  with  her.  I  have 
seen  her  and  heard  her  speak." 

Something  in  the  low,  patient  voice  touched  Claire  to  the 
heart,  and,  trembling,  she  sunk  into  a  chair.  The  sister'? 
eyes  rested  upon  her  with  infinite  pity  and  tenderness. 

"  Are  you  satisfied?"  she  asked  of  the  mistress. 

Miss  Gover  nodded. 

"  Of  course,  if  you  will  act  as  a  reference,  Sister  Agnes,  I 
am  satisfied;  and  so  also  will  the  Board  be."  She  turned  to 
Claire.  "  Sister  Agnes  is  the  best-known  person  in  this  dis- 
trict, and  any  one  she  vouched  for  would  be  accepted." 

Claire  rose  and  tried  to  speak,  but  the  words  of  gratitude 
would  not  come.  Sister  Agnes  laid  her  hand  upon  Claire's 
arm.  The  touch  was  as  soft  and  light  as  a  snow-flake,  but 
there  was  something  mesmeric  in  it,  and  it  stilled  Claire's 
throbbing  heart. 

"  You  had  better  come  to-morrow  morning,  at  half  past 
eight,"  said  Miss  Gover,  "  so  that  we  may  have  time  to  talk 
matters  over  and  arrange  your  duties.  You  will  find  the 
work  hard  " — she  sighed,  and  the  lines  deepened  on  her 
brow — "  but  it  will  not  be  unpleasant,  if  you  grow  to  like  it. 
The  girls  are  troublesome  sometimes,  but  they  are  nearly  all 
good -hearted  and  do  their  best." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  hard  work,"  said  Claire.  "  I  will  try 
my  very  best.  Not  only  for  my  own  sake,  but  " — she  looked 
through  her  tears  at  Sister  Agues — "  but  for  yours." 

"Come  home  now,  my  child!"  said  the  sister;  and  with 
bent  head  and  folded  hands  she  led  the  way. 

"  I  want  to  thank  you,"  said  Claire,  when  they  got  outside, 
"  but  I  can  not;  my  heart  is  too  full.  I  will  tell  you  all  my 
story." 

The  sister  raised  her  meek  eyes,  and  smiled  almost  re- 
proachfully. 

"  That  would  not  be  thanking  me,"  she  said.  "  I  do  not 
want  you  to  justify  my  trust  in  you.  You  shall  tell  me  your 
story  some  day,  but  not  now,  my  dear  child.  Go  home  and 
rest,  so  that  you  may  gain  strength  for  the  work  you  are  start- 
ing on  to-morrow.  Do  not  be  afraid.  That  little  woman's 
heart  is  bigger  than  her  body;  it  is  only  her  manner  that  is 
hard.  Behind  it  is  a  nature  as  soft  and  loving  as  that  which 
you  hide  behind  the  mask  of  pride." 

Claire  hung  her  head. 

"Beware  of  pride,  mv  child!  Friends  were  given  us  that 
we  might  make  use  of  their  friendship,  for  their  good  as  well 
as  our  own." 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  207 

"  If  you  knew!"  faltered  Claire. 

"  I  do  not  blame  you,  though  I  do  not  know  all.  I  can  see 
that  you  have  suffered,  that  you  are  still  in  trouble.  There  is 
no  balm  for  an  aching  heart  like  work.  I  speak  from  sad 
and  sweet  experience.  Our  ways  part  here;  I  am  going  to 
see  a  sick  child  for  whom  even  work  is  ending."  As  she 
spoke,  she  touched  Claire's  arm  again  and  passed  away  like  a 
shadow. 

Claire  went  home,  but  she  could  not  rest.  It  seemed  to 
her  as  if  an  angel  from  heaven  in  the  form  of  Sister  Agnes 
had  come  forward  to  help  her.  It  seemed  too  wonderful  to 
be  true.  She  went  out  after  awhile  and  bought  two  or  three 
school-books,  and  studied  them  late  into  the  night.  She  could 
scarcely  sleep  for  thinking  of  this  great  good  fortune,  of  the 
kindness  of  the  two  women;  but  she  was  at  the  school  next 
morning  before  the  clock  had  chimed  half  past  eight.  Miss 
Gover  received  her  kindly,  but  in  a  business-like  way.  She 
explained  the  school  routine,  and,  so  to  speak,  put  Claire 
through  her  paces,  and  Claire  blushed  with  delight  when  Miss 
Gover  said,  curtly: 

"  There  will  be  no  difficulty  about  your  examination;  you 
will  pass  easily  enough!" 

At  nine  o'clock  the  girls  came  trooping  in,  and  Claire's 
duties  commenced.  She  had  a  class  of  fifteen  girls.  They 
were,  of  course,  the  smallest  of  the  children,  but  Claire  almost 
felt  afraid  of  them,  they  seemed  all  so  preternaturally 
sharp,  and  they  eyed  her  with  that  peculiar  acuteness  which 
London  children  alone  possess.  Claire  was  astonished  at  their 
quickness  and  shrewdness,  and  was  rather  aghast  at  the  readi- 
ness with  which  they  seized  upon  any  salient  fact  in  the  les- 
son; their  intelligence  was  as  sharp  as  a  razor.  Deeply 
occupied  as  she  was,  she  found  time  to  observe  Miss  Gover. 
The  head  mistress  was  a  born  mistress;  and  as  Claire  looked 
at  her,  she  thought  of  Napoleon — ridiculous  as  the  parallel 
may  seem.  The  little  woman  held  all  the  girls — some  of 
them  bigger  than  herself — as  completely  in  hand  as  a  general 
holds  his  division.  At  a  word  from  her  or  a  stroke  of  her 
bell,  the  whole  school  instantly  became  silent;  she  seemed  _to 
have  eyes  for  everything  and  every  one,  and  though  Claire 
never  met  her  glance,  she  knew  that  Miss  Gover  was  watching 
her. 

The  room  grew  hot,  Claire's  head  began  to  ache  with  that 
peculiar  ache  which  the  school-teacher  alone  knows,  but  she 
was  not  daunted.  She  liked  the  work;  she  was  interested  in 
the  girls.  One  little  mite,  a  child  with  short,  fair  hair, 


208  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGHA. 

clustering  in  curls  about  her  little  round  head,  won  her 
heart  from  the  start.  She  was  called  Tiny,  and  was  at  the 
bottom  of  the  class.  She  grew  tired  after  awhile,  and  Claire 
took  her  upon  her  knees,  where  the  child  promptly  fell  asleep. 

At  twelve  o'clock  the  school  broke  up  for  the  dinner-time, 
and  Claire  went  over  to  Miss  Gover  and  timidly  asked  how  she, 
Claire,  had  got  on. 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Miss  Gover;  "  but  I  noticed  that  you 
took  one  of  the  children  on  your  lap." 

"  She  was  a  wee,  little  thing,"  said  Claire,  "  and  very 
tired." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Miss  Gover.  "  But  you  mustn't  do 
it.  You've  got  to  learn  that  a  school-teacher  is  supposed  to 
have  no  heart.  Oh,  yes,  I  think  you'll  do  very  well.  You've 
got  a  headache,  of  course?" 

Claire  admitted  the  soft  impeachment.  "  But  it  will  be  all 
right  when  I  am  used  to  it,"  she  said. 

"  Do  you  think  so?"  said  Miss  Gover,  with  a  weary  little 
smile.  "  Well,  perhaps  it  may.  You  look  very  strong;"  and 
she  glanced  at  the  graceful,  girlish  -figure  with  a  reluctant 
admiration  not  un tinged  with  amiaole  envy. 

"  Oh,  I'm  as  strong  as  a  horse!"  said  Claire,  with  a  smile. 

"  You  need  be!"  rejoined  the  head  mistress,  significantly. 

Day  followed  day,  and  Claire  settled  down  into  her  new 
life.  Few  careers  are  as  uneventful  as  a  school-teacher's;  but 
Claire  did  not  find  her  life  monotonous.  She  was  interested 
in  her  work,  and,  except  for  the  headaches,  which  grew  less 
frequent  after  a  time,  she  kept  her  health.  In  a  very  short 
time  she  succeeded  in  winning  the  affection  of  her  class.  The 
children  went  home  full  of  the  kindness  of  the  new,  pretty 
mistress;  the  little  Tiny  regarded  her  as  a  second  mother;  for 
though  Claire  did  not  repeat  the  mistake  of  nursing  her,  she 
was  especially  gentle  with  the  mite  who  ought  to  have  been  in 
the  nursery  instead  of  a  school. 

Claire  devoted  her  evenings  to  preparation  for  her  examina- 
tion, and  at  times  she  felt  sure  of  passing.  Now  and  again, 
when  she  was  poring  over  Enclid,  or  Macaulav's  "  History  of 
England,"  she  would  stop  and  ask  herself  if  Court  Regna  and 
her  old  life  had  ever  been  a  reality.  If — if  Gerald  Wayre  had 
ever  existed  ?  She  thought  of  him  very  often — of  his  strug- 
gles, his  cheerfulness,  his  self-reliance,  the  masterful  way  in 
which  he  had  tackled  the  work  at  the  Court;  and,  in  a  singu- 
lar way,  his  character  influenced  hers. 

But  she  had  not  much  time  for  thought;  there  was  the  ordi- 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  209 

nary  routine  work  at  the  school  every  day;  her  own  prepara- 
tion for  the  examination  every  night. 

Of  Sister  Agnes  she  saw  very  little.  Now  and  again  she 
would  pass  her  on  the  stairs  or  meet  her  in  the  street,  but  the 
sister  never  vouchsafed  her  more  than  a  smile,  the  placid 
smile  of  a  saint,  and  Claire  did  not  venture  to  address  her,  to 
intrude  upon  her.  For  there  was  something  in  Sister  Agnes, 
with  all  her  humility  and  sweetness,  which  kept  people  at 
arm's-length. 

One  day  Claire  missed  Tiny  from  the  class. 

"  Where  is  Tiny?"  she  asked. 

"  Tiny's  ill,  teacher,'"'  said  one  of  the  girls.  After  the 
school  was  over,  Claire  obtained  Tiny's  address  and  went 
round  to  see  the  child.  She  found  the  mother  in  tears.  Tiny 
was  very  bad!  Doctor  said  it  was  some  fever;  mother  didn't 
know  rightly  which.  Yes,  the  lady  could  see  the  child.  Tiny 
was  always  talking  about  her.  Claire  went  up  the  narrow 
staircase  and  into  a  small  room,  where  the  little  mite  lay  toss- 
ing on  a  bed  almost  as  small  as  herself.  Tiny  did  not  know 
her  at  first,  but  after  a  time  understood  that  it  was  the  pretty 
teacher,  and  lisped  fragments  of  the  last  lessons  she  had 
learned. 

Claire  sat  beside  her  for  some  time,  and  when  she  rose  to 
leave,  gathered  the  child  to  her  bosom  and  kissed  her.  The 
next  day  Claire  had  a  return  of  the  headaches  which  she  had 
flattered  herself  she  had  grown  out  of.  When  she  got  home 
she  felt  giddy  and  faint.  She  went  to  bed  with  a  parching 
throat,  and  a  choking  sensation,  which  was  more  than 
unpleasant.  Then,  at  last,  she  fell  asleep,  and  woke  to  find 
Sister  Agnes  beside  her. 

"  Sister  Agnes!"  she  said,  with  difficulty.     :t  You — here?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Sister  Agnes.  "  I  am  here  because  you  want 
me.  You  are  ill!" 

"  111?"  said  Claire;  and  her  voice  sounded  strangely  in  her 
own  ears.  "  What  is  the  matter  with  me?"' 

"  Diphtheria,  my  child,"  said  Sister  Agnes.  :'  You  caught 
it  from  Tiny!" 

"  Poor  little  Tiny!    I  remember!"  murmured  Claire. 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

CLAIRE  was  very  ill.  More  than  once  grim  Death  hovered 
very  near  the  bed  on  which  she  lay  like  a  flower  struck  down 
by  a  blast  of  some  deadly  wind;  but  there  was  an  angel  pres- 
ent in  the  form  of  Sister  Agnes,  and  she  fought  King  Death— 


210  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

as  the  Angel  of  Life  in  Watts'  great  picture  fights  with  tho 
Destroyer — and  she  kept  him  at  bay. 

Providence  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb,  and  often 
raises  up  friends  for  us  in  our  hour  of  need;  it  raised  up  friends 
for  poor  Claire.  Not  only  Sister  Agnes,  but  Mrs.  Holland, 
the  landlady,  and  Queenie  were  moved  to  pity  and  tenderness. 
Miss  Gover  herself  came  round,  and,  though  she  dared  not 
enter  the  sick-room  for  fear  of  carrying  contagion  to  the 
school,  spent  many  a  half-holiday  on  a  chair  on  the  little 
landing  outside  the  sick-room  door,  from  which  she  would 
address,  in  a  curiously  and  comically  softened  voice,  words  of 
encouragement  to  Clair  within;  and  when  Claire  would  try  to 
answer  her,  the  sharp,  little  woman  would  struggle  with  a 
lump  in  her  throat,  and  dash  her  hand  across  her  keen  eyes. 

In  diphtheria  the  fever  is  seldom  delirious,  and  Claire 
neither  raved  nor  rambled  incoherently;  so  that  Sister  Agnes 
learned  nothing  of  her  patient's  past  life;  but  she  knew  that 
the  trouble  which  had  cast  CJaire  from  wealth  to  poverty,  and 
driven  her  into  a  lonely  fight  with  the  world,  was  still  weigh- 
ing upon  her  mind,  and  helping  the  insidious  disease.  The 
doctor,  one  of  those  hard-working  men  who  are  an  honor  to 
their  profession  and  the  salt  of  the  earth,  more  than  once 
shook  his  head  gravely,  and,  outside  the  door,  expressed  to 
Sister  Agnes  his  doubts  as  to  the  result  of  the  illness. 

"  I  might  fight  the  diphtheria/'  he  said;  "  her  youth  and 
her  strength — for  she  is  a  splendid  specimen  of  a  young 
woman — help  me,  but  she  herself  doesn't  do  much  hi  that 
way;  she  doesn't  appear  particularly  anxious  to  live!" 

"  She  has  known  trouble,"  said  Sister  Agnes. 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  doctor,  looking  at  his  watch — he  had 
about  fifty  other  cases  to  see  that  day — "  I  guessed  that. 
Now,  if  you  could  cure  the  trouble,  Sister  Agnes,  I  think, 
mind,  I  think,  I  could  pull  her  through  the  diphtheria.  It's 
percious  hard  for  us  doctors  when  a  sick  person  has  something 
wrong  with  his  mind  as  well  as  his  body.  Sorrow  kills  more 
often  than  disease.  Go  on  with  the  treatment." 

Sister  Agnes  went  back  to  Claire  and  smoothed  the  pillow 
and  bathed  the  hot  head,  and  Claire  smiled  up  at  her 
patiently  and  gratefully. 

"  Does  he  say  I  am  going  to  die?"  she  asked,  one  day. 

"  No,"  said  Sister  Agnes.  "  He  thinks  that  you  will  live — 
if  you  care  to." 

Claire  smiled  again,  a  smile  that  went  to  Sister  Agnes's 
heart.  "  1  should  like  to  live  through  it  for  your  sake,  sis- 
ter/' she  said.  "  But  for  mv  own — ah,  well,  life  does  not 


THE  MISTEESS  OP  COURT  HEGNA.  211 

seom  BO  very  precious  that  one  should  fight  and  struggle  for 
it.  How  is  Tiny  to-day?" 

"  Better,"  said  Sister  Agnes.  "  She  cried  when  they  told 
her  that  you  were  ill." 

"  Poor  little  mite!"  said  Claire.  "  I  am  sorry  they  told 
her.  I  am  glad  that  she  is  better,  and  hope  that  she  will 
live;  all  her  life  is  before  her,  with  hope  and  love  and  happi- 
ness." 

"  You  speak  as  if  love  and  happiness  were  over  for  you, 
dear,"  said  Sister  Agnes,  gently. 

"  I  think  they  are,"  said  Claire.  "  That  must  sound  very 
wicked  to  you,  sister;  very  childish  and  peevish.  You  are  so 
good,  you  see,  and  I  am  so  wicked  and  impatient." 

"  Don't  say  that  I  am  good,"  said  Sister  Agnes. 

Claire  smiled.  "  You  are  too  good  for  this  world,  sister. 
Some  persons  are  born  so.  I  am  not  one  of  them." 

"  Don't  say  that!"  said  Sister  Agnes,  again.  "  You  speak 
as  if  your  trouble  had  left  some  bitterness  in  your  heart." 

"  Yes,"  said  Claire.  "  It  has;  I  am  no  saint.  My  pride 
and  self-love  have  been  wounded,  and  the  wound  rankles." 

"  Can  yon  tell  me  your  trouble?"  asked  Sister  Agnes,  after 
a  pause.  "  I  know  that  you  have  not  always  been  poor;  but, 
my  dear,  riches  are  not  everything  in  this  world." 

"  Eiches!"  said  Claire.  "  You  think  that  I  am  grieving 
for  the  loss  of  my  money?  I  am  not." 

She  was  silent  for  a  time.  During  her  fever  her  feelings 
had  gone  through  a  strange  phase.  There  were  times  when 
she  had  forgotten  Gerald's  supposed  treachery,  when  she  had 
forgotten  his  flight  with  Lucy  Hawker.  They  came  back 
upon  her  now  in  full  force. 

"It  is  not  the  loss  of  my  money  that  has  hurt  me,"  she 
said.  "  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  tell  you — " 

"  There  need  be  no  shame,  dear,"  said  Sister  Agnes. 
"  Sorrow  is  only  shameful  when  we  have  brought  it  upon  us 
by  our  own  sin;  and  even  then  there  is  no  shame  in  owning 
our  fault  and  praying  for  forgiveness." 

Claire  smiled  half  bitterly.  "  I  don't  know  that  it  was  all 
my  fault,"  she  said.  "  If  it  was  a  sin  to  love  him  and 
believe  in  him,  half  the  sin  is  mine  still.  I  did  love  him,  and 
that  I  can  no  longer  believe  in  him  is  my  great  sorrow.  Sister, 
are  all  men  liars?" 

"  Not  all,"  said  Sister  Agnes.  '  Thank  God,  there  are 
many,  many  good  men  and  true  in  the  rorld.  The  clergy- 
man who  came  to  see  you  yesterday — " 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COUET  JREGNA. 

"  The  little  curate  with  the  weak  eyes  aiid  the  thin  hair?" 
said-Claire.  "  How  kind  he  was,  how  gentle!" 

"  Yes/'  said  Sister  Agnes,  "  and  he  is  as  noble — for  all  his 
weak  eyes  and  thin  hair — as  he  is  gentle.  He  left  a  home  of 
wealth  and  luxury — sacrificed  all  that  the  world  considers 
worth  living  for — to  come  here  and  labor  for  the  good  of  his 
fellow-men. 

"  He  was  quite  different,"  said  Claire  in  a  low  voice.  "  He 
•was  tall  and  strong,  and  fought  for  his  own  hand.  I  think 
that  is  one  reason  why  I  loved  him.  He  was  quite  unlike 
your  pet  curate,  sister;  and,  perhaps,  you  would  not  think 
him  a  hero.  But  he  was  a  hero  in  my  eyes,  and  I  gave  him 
all  my  heart." 

"  He  must  have  been  a  very  foolish  as  well  as  a  very  wicked 
man,  my  dear,  if  he  didn't  value  it  as  one  of  the  greatest 
treasures  on  earth." 

Claire  laughed  and  struggled  for  breath.  "  He  valued  it  so 
little  that  he  went  off  with  another  girl!  Ah,  how  mean,  how 
miserable  my  story  must  seem  to  you,  sister!  But  there  it  is. 
He  told  me  that  he  loved  me,  and  five  minutes  afterward  I 
saw  him —  It  all  sounds  so  impossible!  So  impossible  that 
while  I  have  been  lying  here  I  have  forgotten  his  treachery, 
and  at  times  have  only  remembered  him  as  1  once  thought 
him — all  that  was  noble,  and  good,  and  brave,  and  true." 

Sister  Agnes  took  the  hot  hand  and  smoothed  it.  "  You 
must  not  talk  much  more,  dear,"  she  said.  "  But  one 
word — are  you  sure  that  you  were  not  mistaken?  You  do  not 
seem  to  me  a  girl  easily  deceived." 

"  No,"  said  Claire.  "  I  prided  myself  on  my  intelligence. 
I  thought  that  I  could  not  be  mistaken  in  him;  that  was  where 
I  was  wrong.  But  '  men  are  deceivers  ever,'  you  know,  sis- 
ter. No,  there  could  be  no  mistake!  I  saw  him  with  my 
own  eyes  making  love — oh,  how  I  hate  the  word! — to  the 
other  girl." 

The  hot  tears  welled  from  beneath  her  eyelids.  "  All  thia 
must  seem  so  petty,  so  contemptible  to  you,  sister;  though  it 
means  so  much  to  me." 

Sister  Agnes  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two,  then  she  drew 
the  black  veil  a  little  over  her  face.  "  Neither  mean  nor 
contemptible,  dear!"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  You  speak 
as  if  ]  did  not  know  what  love  meant.  You  are  wrong.  Is 
there  any  woman  who  is  so  ignorant?  I,  too,  have  had  my 
sorrow.  It  has  cast  a  shadow  over  my  life — a  shadow  that 
has  taken  this  form;"  she  touched  her  black  dress. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  213 

Claire  turned  her  head,  but  the  pale,  patient  face  was  hid- 
den from  her. 

'  You,  sister?"  she  breathed,  half  fearfully. 

"Yes,  I!"  said  Sister  Agnes.  "It  is  hard  for  you  to 
realize  that  I,  an  old  woman  with  white  hair,  was  once  a 
young  girl  like  yourself." 

"  No,  no,  sister!"  murmured  Claire. 

"  It  is  hard  for  even  me  to  realize  it,"  said  Sister  Agnes, 
"for  the  past  grows  dim  as  a  dream.  And  yet,  while 
you  have  been  speaking,  it  has  all  come  back  so  vividly. 
You  have  told  me  something  of  your  trouble:  shall  I  tell  you 
of  mine?" 

"  Not  if  it  will  pain  you,"  said  Claire. 

"  It  will  pain  me,"  said  Sister  Agnes.  "  But  I  shall  not 
shrink  from  that  if  I  can  remind  you  that  you  are  not  the 
only  one  who  has  suffered,  if  I  can  show  you  that  there  is 
some  consolation  for  those  who  seek  it  rightly.  It  is  in  the 
hour  of  our  direst  need,  when  life  seems  a  hideous  mockery, 
and  death  our  only  refuge,  that  God  points  out  to  us  a  path 
which  leads  to  peace.  Listen,  Claire.  Close  your  eyes, 
dearest;  do  not  look  at  me,  for  in  my  sorrow  there  is,  if  not 
actual  sin,  the  shadow  of  shame." 

Claire  stretched  out  her  hand  and  sought  the  sister's  thin 
one.  Sister  Agnes  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two,  then  the 
gentle,  patient  voice  went  on : 

"  Claire,  I  was  an  only  daughter,  the  child  of  God-fearing 
people.  My  father  was  a  clergyman,  one  of  those  who  have 
inherited  the  old  Puritan  spirit.  I  was  brought  up  strictly — 
too  strictly.  Innocence  is  a  good  thing,  Claire,  but,  like  most 
good  things,  if  carried  to  extremes,  it  becomes  an  evil  and  a 
danger.  I  was  shielded  in  our  secluded  parsonage  from  all 
knowledge  of  the  great  world,  whose  echo  even  never  reached 
the  vicarage  gates.  I  knew  nothing  of  men,  of  their  evil 
natures,  or  of  their  good.  My  knowledge,  or,  rather,  say  my 
ignorance,  was  bounded  by  the  little  village  that  ran  to  the 
sea-shore.  I  was  very  happy — happy  and  content  helping  my 
father  with  the  sick  and  needy  in  his  parish — with  the  simple 
duties  that  fall  to  the  parson's  daughter." 

Claire  pressed  her  hand.  "I  can  see  you,  sister,"  she 
whispered. 

"  One  day  I  was  standing  on  the  little  quay,  when  a  yach* 
sailed  in.  I  was  thinking  how  beautiful  she  looked — like  & 
bird  spreading  its  wings  upon  the  water.  A  gentleman  came 
on  shore  from  her.  A  stranger  was  rare  in  our  quiet  place. 
I  stood  and  looked  at  him  rclth  natural  curiosity  and  interest 


214  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

Pernaps  that  attracted  his  attention;  he  raised  his  hat  and 
spoke  to  me.  I  remember  even  now  the  commonplace  wordi 
he  said.  He  said  that  it  was  a  fine  day,  and  he  asked  me  to 
direct  him  to  the  inn.  I  told  him  the  way,  and  thought  that 
he  would  leave  me  at  once;  but  he  lingered,  and  we  talked 
still  further.  He  was  young  and  handsome,  and  he  spoke 
with  all  the  ease  of  a  man  of  the  world.  I  had  never  met  such 
a  being  before;  all  the  men  I  knew  were  stiff  and  awkward; 
this  man  was  grace  itself.  He  treated  me  as  if  I  were  an 
uncrowned  queen,  with  a  deference  and  gentleness  that 
thrilled  through  me  like  a  warm  ray  of  sunlight." 

"  I  know — I  know!"  murmured  Claire. 

"  When  he  had  gone,  I  stood  there  bewildered,  feeling  as  if 
something  had  come  into  my  life  and  gone  out  of  it,  leaving 
me  poorer  than  before.  I  went  home  half  dazed.  And  I  lay 
awake  all  that  night  thinking  of  him.'* 

"  I  know!"  said  Claire,  again. 

"  The  next  day  1  met  him  again.  He  came  down  the  nar- 
row lane  humming  a  song,  which  ceased  as  he  saw  me;  his 
face  lighted  up  with  a  smile,  which  mine,  I  knew,  reflected. 
We  walked  side  by  side  and  talked.  Even  now  I  can  remem- 
ber every  word  he  said,  every  look  on  his  face.  Every  day  for 
a  week  we  met;  at  first  by  chance,  afterward  by  agreement; 
and  before  the  week  was  over  he  had  become  to  me  dearer 
than  father  and  mother — than  life  itself." 

"  Oh,  I  understand!"  breathed  Claire.  "  It  might  be  my 
own  story." 

Sister  Agnes  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  At  last  he  told  me  that  he  loved  me,  and  asked  me  to  be 
his  wife.  1  tried  to  resist,  but  something  drew  me  to  him, 
and  I  hid  my  face  upon  his  breast,  while  he  drew  a  confession 
of  my  love  from  me.  Bat  I  was  not  wholly  forgetful  of  my 
father  and  my  home.  I  reminded  him  that  I  did  not  even 
know  his  name,  that  he  was  a  stranger  to  me  and  mine.  He 
laughed — whenever  he  laughed  something  within  my  heart 
laughed,  too,  and  dispelled  all  doubt  and  fear." 

;?Yes,"  said  Claire.     "  When  he  laughed  I  felt  like  that." 

"  He  told  me  his  name  and  rank.  He  was  a  nobleman;  I 
was  frightened,  for  I  knew  that  between  him  and  me,  the 
daughter  of  a  poor  clergyman,  there  must  be  a  great  gulf. 
He  laughed  my  fears  away.  He  said  he  would  go  to  my 
father  and  ask  for  me  with  all  proper  ceremony.  We  went 
home  together.  He  saw  my  father.  What  passed  between 
them  I  do  not  know,  but  my  father  came  to  me  and  told  me 
th&t  the  man  I  loved  was  not  fit  to  be  my  husband." 


THE  MISTRESS  Olf  COUET  EEGNA.  215 

She  was  silent  a  moment,  and  Claire  felt  the  thin,  wasted 
hand  tremble. 

"  My  father  said  that  he  was  a  profligate,  a  man  of  well- 
known  bad  character,  and  that  nothing  but  unhappiness  for 
me  could  result  from  our  marriage.  I  pleaded  hard,  but  my 
father  was  inexorable.  That  my  lover  was  a  man  of  wealth 
and  rank  weighed  nothing  with  him.  If  I  had  fallen  in  love 
with  our  village  carpenter,  a  respectable  member  of  our 
church,  my  father  would  have  consented  to  our  union;  but  he 
would  not  give  his  daughter  to  a  man  of  loose  life,  though  he 
were  the  king  of  England.  There  was  a  stormy  scene.  I 
heard  my  father's  and  my  lover's  voices  raised  in  anger  and 
defiance — " 

There  was  a  pause.  So  vividly  had  the  sister's  simple 
narrative  depicted  the  scene,  that  Claire  almost  saw  it. 

"  My  lover  left  the  house/'  resumed  Sister  Agues,  "  and  I 
was  bidden  to  see  him  no  more;  but  I  could  not  obey. 
I,  whose  will  and  wish  had  hitherto  been  those  of  my  father's, 
felt  a  force  stronger  than  filial  piety  impelling  me.  I  stole 
out  of  the  house  that  night  and  met  my  lover." 

She  paused,  as  if  the  memory  of  the  past  were  casting  a 
spell  upon  her. 

"  He  owned  that  my  father  had  just  cause  for  doubting  his 
sincerity,  but  he  swore  that  he  loved  me,  and  he  implored  me 
to  fly  with  him  and  be  his  wife.  I  resisted  for  days,  but  a 
woman's  heart  is  weak  when  it  is  overbrimming  with  love. 
I  forgot  the  duty  I  owed  my  father;  I  forgot  everything  in  the 
passion  which  consumed  me  like  fire,  and  at  last  I  consented 
to  a  clandestine  marriage.  You  blame  me,  Claire?" 

"  No,"  breathed  Claire.  "  If  the  man  I  loved  had  said  to 
me,  '  Come  with  me  to  the  end  of  the  earth/  I  must  have 
gone — if  1  had  not  discovered  his  treachery." 

"  We  are  all  alike,"  said  Sister  Agnes  in  a  low  voice. 
"  Sometimes,  in  my  presumption,  I  have  asked  myself  why 
God  made  women  so  subject  to  man,  so  fully  his  slave.  To 
avert  suspicion,  he  sailed  away  in  his  yacht,  but  he  came  back 
a  week  or  two  later,  and  the  yacht  lay  off  the  port.  I  had 
agreed  to  steal  from  my  home  and  join  him  on  board.  That 
night  I  rose  from  my  bed  and  dressed  myself,  and  while  the 
father  who  loved  me  lay  asleep,  trusting  me  and  suspecting 
nothing,  I  stole  from  the  house,  and,  going  down  to  the  quay, 
found  a  boat  waiting  for  me.  Even  then  a  presentiment  of 
coming  evil  smote  me  like  a  cold  wind,  and  I  would  have 
drawn  back  and  returned  to  the  safety  of  a  father's  love,  but 
my  lover  and  my  love  were  too  itvoug.  As  I  hesitated,  ho 


216  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  HEGSTA. 

took  me  in  his  arms  and  carried  me  into  the  boat,  .ind  wo 
rowed  to  the  yacht." 

"  Sister!"  whispered  Claire. 

"  He  had  brought  a  woman  with  him — a  faithful  and 
devoted  servant,  who  had  been  his  nurse.  He  had  thought  of 
everything  that  could  insure  my  safety  and  soothe  my  con- 
science. No  man  could  have  been  more  gentle,  more 
chivalrous  than  he  was.  If  it  had  been  possible,  I  should 
have  loved  him  more  deeply  during  that  voyage  than  I  had 
done  before.  Think  of  it,  Claire!  To  sail  on  sunlit  seas  with 
the  man  to  whom  one's  whole  heart  has  been  given ;  to  lie 
back  on  a  chair  on  a  snow-white  deck,  with  snow-white  sails 
above  one's  head,  and  listen  to  words  made  musical  by  love! 
We  reached  a  foreign  port,  and  there,  quietly,  privately,  but 
with  all  due  form,  we  were  married." 

Claire  unconsciously  drew  a  breath  of  relief. 

"Yes,  married,"  said  Sister  Agnes.  "He  loved  me  well 
enough — then — to  make  me  his  wife.  He  loved  me  well 
enough — then." 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

SHE  paused  in  her  narrative,  and  her  head  bent  lower. 

"  We  traveled  on  the  Continent  some  months.  My  husband 
was  a  singular  man,  and  disliked  society.  None  of  his 
relatives,  and,  indeed,  very  few  of  his  friends,  if  any,  were 
aware  of  our  marriage.  He  seemed  to  shun  acquaintances, 
and  we  lived  for  the  greater  part  of  the  time  in  an  old  Swiss 
town.  I  was  quite  content  and  very  happy,  and  did  not  feel 
the  need  of  friends  while  he  was  by  my  side  and  I  had  his 
love.  For  a  time  we  lived  an  idyllic  life;  the  life  of  two  per- 
sons who  love  each  other,  and  are  satisfied  with  their  love. 
If  I  had  been  a  woman  of  the  world,  instead  of  an  ignorant, 
unsophisticated  girl,  I  should  have  known  that  such  a  life 
could  not  last;  but  I  knew  nothing  of  the  world,  nothing  of 
men — our  masters.  I  was  living  in  a  Fool's  Paradise,  and 
did  not  understand  that  the  existence  which  seemed  so  perfect 
to  me  would  soon  begin  to  pall  upon  him. 

"  All  his  life  had  been  spent  in  pleasure,  every  whim  had 
been  gratified,  and  it  was  not  likely  that  a  life  of  sweet 
monotony  would  satisfy  him.  It  was  wonderful  that  he  was 
contented  for  so  long.  For  some  months  he  scarcely  left  me, 
but  presently  he  began  to  go  by  himself  to  the  nearest  town. 
There  was  a  club  there,  and  he  met  men,  who,  like  himself, 
were  dsvoted  to  pleasure.  At  first  I  was  glad  that  he  should 


THE  MISTEESS  OF  COURT  KEGffA.  217 

i  - 

find  some  amusement  and  change  outside  oar  quiet  existence, 
and  I  encouraged  him  to  make  frequent  visits  to  the  town, 
little  thinking  that  I  was  with  my  own  hand  weakening  the 
slender  links  of  the  chain  which  bound  him  to  me.  After  a 
time  his  absences  were  more  frequent  and  longer;  he  would 
stay  away  for  a  night  or  two;  at  first  with  many  excuses  and 
plausible  reasons,  but  gradually  with  no  excuse  at  all.  Little 
by  little  the  truth  began  to  dawn  upon  me — that  truth  which 
is  the  most  bitter  a  woman  can  learn — that  the  man  she  loves 
is  growing  weary  of  her/' 

Claire's  hand  closed  over  the  sister's  and  pressed  it. 

"  Don't  tell  me  any  more,  sister!"  she  said. 

"  Yes,"  returned  the  low,  patient  voice.  "  I  want  you  to 
know  why  I  can  sympathize  with  you.  I  tried  to  hide  the 
awful  doubt  and  dread  which  was  creeping  over  my  heart  like 
a  blight.  I  tried  to  be  gay  and  to  seem  as  if  I  were  still  sure 
of  his  affection  and  feared  nothing;  for,  innocent  as  I  was,  I 
knew,  with  a  woman's  sure  instinct,  that  to  complain  were 
fatal.  In  a  chalet  near  ours  lived  a  young  Italian.  He  lived 
a  life  almost  as  secluded  as  ,our  own,  for  he  was  delicate,  and 
held  his  life  by  the  slenderest  of  threads.  He  had  made  my 
husband's  acquaintance  in  an  informal  way,  and,  now  and 
again,  we  had  exchanged  visits.  He  was  very  young,  very 
handsome,  with  that  kind  of  beauty  which  the  shadow  of 
death  spiritualizes.  He  was  a  musician,  and  spent  nearly  all 
his  time  with  his  piano  and  violin;  sometimes  on  still  nights 
I  could  hear  the  sweet  strains  wafted  through  the  windows  of 
my  room,  in  which  I  now  spent  so  many  solitary  hours.  One 
day  he  called  while  my  husband  was  out;  I  had  been  crying, 
for  my  husband  had  been  away  from  me  three  clays,  and  I 
think  the  young  fellow  saw  traces  of  my  tears.  He  was  very 
gentle,  though  he  affected  not  to  have  noticed  that  anything 
was  wrong,  but  after  he  had  been  talking  for  a  little  while,  he 
went  to  the  piano  and  played  and  sung  to  me.  It  was  as  if 
some  friend  had  laid  a  soothing  hand  upon  my  heart;  he  got 
up  from  the  piano  and  went  without  a  word;  but  the  next  day 
he  came  again,  and  the  next,  and  the  next;  indeed,  there  was 
scarcely  a  day  on  which  he  did  not  cross  the  grounds  and 
enter  by  the  long,  open  window;  and  if  he  did  not  come,  I 
missed  him.  Are  you  thinking  ill  of  me,  dear?" 

"  No,  no!"  murmured  Claire. 

"  There  is  no  need,"  said  Sister  Agnes,  simply.  "  I  meant 
no  ill,  thought  no  ill.  I  still  loved  my  husband  with  all  my 
heart,  and  the  young  Italian  was  to  me  like  a  brother  or  a 
friend— just  that,  and  no  more.  My  husband  did  not 


218  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGNJL. 

seem  to  notice  the  frequency  of  his  visits.  I  know  now  that 
he  was  growing  indifferent  to  me  and  all  that  concerned  me. 
Sometimes  he  came  home  hot  and  flushed  with  drink  and  the 
excitement  of  the  gaming-table,  and  finding  us  together, 
would  vouchsafe  us  a  nod  and  a  few  careless  words,  and  go 
straight  to  his  own  room.  The  young  Italian,  young  as  he 
was,  knew  more  of  the  world  than  I  did;  he  was  a  man  with 
a  man's  knowledge  of  other  men's  lives.  Rumors  of  my  hus- 
band's manner  of  amusing  himself  reached  his  ears — he  knew 
that  my  husband's  fickle  fancy  had  been  caught  by  a  fresh 
face,  and  that  he  spent  most  of  his  time  when  away  from  me 
with  a  woman  of  notorious  ill-fame.  The  young  Italian  pitied 
me.  Pity  is  akin  to  love,  and  he  grew  " — she  drew  her 
hand  away  from  Claire's,  and  clasped  her  other  one  in  it 
— "  he  grew  to  love  me.  As  Heaven  is  my  witness,  I  saw, 
suspected  nothing.  I  scarcely  noticed  that  his  manner  grew 
more  gentle,  more  tender;  that  the  music  he  played  and  the 
songs  he  sung  thrilled  with  the  accents  of  passion.  How 
should  I?  I  still  loved  my  husband.  But  I  suppose  my  hus- 
band's eyes  were  keener  than  mine.  The  evil  men  do  makes 
them  quick  to  discern  evil  in  others.  One  day  he  hinted  his 
suspicion.  I  did  not  understand  him  at  first,  and  when  I 
did,  I  was  indignant  to  begin  with,  and  then  scornfully 
amused;  in  my  innocence  I  laughed  at  his  half-formed  accu- 
sation; I  even  refused  to  relinquish  the  young  Italian's  friend- 
ship. I  would  not  by  so  doing  assent,  as  it  were,  to  my 
husband's  unfounded  doubt.  1  shall  never  forget  the  way  in 
which  he  received  my  almost  defiance.  *  We  shall  see/  he 
said,  with  a  half-mocking,  half-bitter  smile,  which  had  become 
habitual  with  him.  *  I  know  men  pretty  well;  I  know  women 
better.  We  shall  see.  But  I  warn  you  that  if  I  should  prove 
to  be  right,  there  will  be  no  mercy  for  him  or  you.  Go  on 
your  own  sweet  way,  but  remember  I  have  warned  you!'  f 
was  so  sure  of  my  friend's  innocence  and  my  own,  that  I  sent. 
over  to  the  cha'let  next  day  to  ask  him  to  come  and  play  to 
me.  He  came;  he  looked  paler  and  more  delicate  than  usual, 
and  was  very  silent.  After  a  time  he  went  to  the  piano,  but 
in  the  middle  of  the  song  he  broke  down,  rose,  and  came 
across  the  room  to  me  and  knelt  at  my  feet.  He  told  me 
that  he  loved  me,  that  he  knew  I  was  unhappy,  that  my  hus- 
band was  deserting  me  for  a  woman  not  fit  to  breathe  the 
same  air;  and  he  asked  me,  implored  me,  to  fly  with  him. 
He  said  that  such  a  marriage  as  mine  was  a  mockery  and  a 
iesecration,  that  I  had  every  right  to  leave  the  man  who  was 
leceivmg  me;  he  said  that  he  would  make  me  his  wife  the 


THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGNA.  219 

moment  the  law  enabled  him  to  do  so.  He  had  not  long  to 
live,  but  while  he  lived  his  life  should  be  devoted  to  me;  he 
was  rich  and  noble;  he  would  leave  me  to  friends  who  would 
care  for  and  watch  over  me.  It  was  true  love  he  offered  me, 
but  I  shrunk  in  horror  and  remorse — remorse  that  my  hus- 
band should  have  been  right  and  I  so  blind  and  wrong.  I  im- 
plored him  to  leave  me;  I  told  him  that  what  he  proposed  was 
impossible,  that  I  still  loved  my  husband,  and  that  even  if  I 
did  not,  I  should  remain  a  true  wife  to  the  end.  He  clung  to 
my  dress,  and  in  passionate  accents  implored  me  to  save 
myself  and  fly  with  him.  While  he  was  still  on  his  knees  a 
shadow  fell  across  the  floor,  and  my  husband  entered." 

There  was  a  pause;  the  ticking  of  the  clock  on  the  mantel- 
shelf sounded  in  Claire's  ears  like  a  human  voice  crying  in 
sharp  accents  of  agony.  Sister  Agnes  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  I  was  like  one  turned  to  stone;  I  could  not  speak,  urge 
my  innocence,  utter  one  word.  The  young  Italian  rose,  white 
and  panting.  My  husband  looked  from  him  to  me  with  a 
smile  of  bitter  amusement.  '  I  told  you  so,'  he  said  in  a 
voice  which  I  had  learned  to  know  so  well,  and  to  dread. 
*  Time  has  proved  me  right!  May  I  ask  whether  you  have 
completed  your  preparations  for  departure  with  your  lover, 
and  whether  I  can  be  of  any  assistance  to  you?  Pray  com- 
mand me!  I  am  quite  at  your  service,  believe  me.' 

"  I  quailed  and  shrunk  before  the  insult,  more  deadly  and 
crushing  than  any  outburst  of  fury;  but  it  drove  the  young 
Italian  mad.  He  sprung  across  the  room  and  struck  my  hus- 
band on  the  face.  My  husband  stood  like  a  rock,  and  the 
smile  never  left  his  lips. 

"  '  Thanks!'  he  said.  '  But  for  this  blow  I  would  have  let 
you  go  unpunished;  but  this  makes  my  course  delightfully 
easy.  You  will  find  my  second  awaiting  you  on  your  return 
home;  but,  pray,  do  not  let  me  hurry  you.  You  two  will  still 
have  a  great  deal  to  say  to  each  other,  and,  with  all  apologies 
for  such  an  impertinent  intrusion,  I  take  my  leave.'  I  heard 
no  more,  for  I  fell  in  a  faint.  1  was  ill  for  weeks,  uncon- 
scious most  of  the  time.  A  child  was  born  to  me  during  that 
time.  When  I  was  well  enough  to  be  told  the  truth,  I  learned 
that  my  little  one  was  dead." 

Her  voice  broke  with  sob  for  an  instant,  and  Claire's  tears 
rolled  down  her  cheeks. 

"  Afterward  they  told  me  that  the  man  who  had  loved  me 
so  madly,  and  pitied  me  so  tenderly,  had  been  killed  by  my 
husband.  He  had  declared  my  innocence,  my  complete 
ignorance  of  his  love,  my  perfect  blamelessness;  but  my  hus- 


220  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REQNA. 

band  had  laughed  incredulously  and  believed  me  gui/ty.  The 
loss  of  my  child,  the  murder  my  husband  had  committed — for 
it  was  no  less  than  murder — nearly  killed  me.  I  prayed  to  die 
night  after  night,  as  others  pray  to  live;  but  God,  in  His 
mercy  and  in  His  pity,  would  not  hear  me.  When  I  grew 
stronger  they  brought  me  a  letter  from  my  husband.  It  was 
as  courteous  as  if  it  had  come  from  a  lawyer  or  a  friend.  He 
would  never  see  me  again;  I  should  remain  his  wife  on  one 
condition — that  I  should  never  bear  his  name.  If  I  would 
consent  to  this  proposal  he  would  make  me  a  liberal  allowance; 
if  not,  he  would  sue  for  a  divorce,  and  bring  shame  upon  me 
and  my  widowed  mother." 

"  Can  such  men  exist?"  said  Claire. 

"  Yes,"  responded  Sister  Agnes,  "  and  women  make  them 
what  they  are.  I  wrote  to  my  husband  and  told  him  that  I 
would  never  bear  his  name  again,  that  I  would  accept  no  help 
from  him;  and  I  sent  him  my  wedding-ring." 

"  Yes,  yes!"  murmured  Claire.     "  And  then?" 

"  Then  I  began  my  new  life.  I  had  very  little  money  and 
no  friends.  I  could  not  go  home;  I  knew  nothing  of  the  world 
with  which  I  had  to  fight — how  hard  a  fight  that  is  you  have 
learned,  dear.  There  were  days  when  I  tasted  no  food;  there 
have  been  nights  when  I  have  lain  awake  with  the  cold.  I 
have  lived  with  the  poorest  of  the  poor,  the  most  wretched  of 
the  wretched,  and  I  have  found  that  there  were  sorrows  deeper 
than  mine,  anguish  more  keen  than  even  I  had  suffered.  I 
found  heroes  and  heroines  in  the  gutters,  martyrs  in  the 
slums.  I  came  of  an  old  Puritan  stock,  Claire,  and  my  heart, 
which  I  thought  had  been  frozen  or  turned  to  stone,  melted 
at  the  sight  of  so  much  misery.  Ah,  dear,  if  the  rich  only 
knew!  It  is  not  because  they  are  so  unfeeling  that  so  little  is 
done  for  the  poor;  it  is  because  they  do  not  knoiv.  One  day 
I  was  taking  some  needle-work  home  to  the  man  who  kept  a 
host  of  slaves  like  myself — slaves  more  wretched  and  more 
cruelly  treated  than  any  in  foreign  lands,  to  free  whom  we 
spend  so  many  millions.  I  was  ill  and  half  starved,  and  1 
fainted  on  the  way.  When  I  came  to,  a  Sister  of  Mercy  was 
bending  over  me.  She  took  me  to  the  Home.  It  was  rightly 
called;  for  it  was  a  Home.  To  me  it  was  a  haven  of  rest  and 
peace.  Some  day,  Claire,  the  world — this  great  Babylon  of 
ours — will  learn  to  know  and  value  the  work  the  Sisters  of 
the  Poor  and  Needy  have  done  and  are  doing.  It  is  too  apt 
to  sneer  and  laugh  at  our  black  garb;  it  does  not  understand 
that  we  wear  it  as  a  uniform  which  we  have  taught  the 
vretched  and  the  miserable  to  respect  and  love.  I  told  th0 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  RECCffA.  221 

sisters  my  story,  concealing  the  names,  as  I  have  concealed 
them  from  you.  They  asked  me  to  join  them;  I  consented 
willingly,  gratefully.  The  day  I  put  on  the  sister's  dress  I 
left  the  past  behind  me,  relinquished  in  very  truth  the  name 
my  husband  had  given  me,  and  became — Sister  Agnes." 

There  was  silence  while  one  could  count  twenty,  then  she 
went  on: 

"  I  have  told  you  this,  dear,  because  I  wanted  you  to  know 
that  there  are  others  who  have  suffered  more  keenly  perhaps 
than  you  have  done;  because  I  wanted  you  to  know  and  feel 
why  I  could  sympathize  with  you." 

"  Oh,  I  am  ashamed!"  said  Claire.  "  Ashamed,  ashamed! 
What  is  my  trouble  compared  with  yours?  I  know,  now,  how 
wicked  I  have  been  to  repine,  to  think  that  I  was  more  cruelly 
used  than  all  other  women.  Sister,  forgive  me!  I,  too,  have 
prayed  to  die,  have  longed  for  death,  but  I  will  do  so  no 
longer.  Not  now.  Help  me  to  get  well,  sister!" 

"  I  have  not  told  you  my  story  in  vain,  dear?"  said  Sister 
Agnes,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"No!"  said  Claire.  "  I  shall  remember  it  as  long  as  I 
live.  Whenever  I  am  tempted  to  think  of  my  lost  money, 
of — of — him,  I  shall  remember  what  you  have  suffered,  and 
shall  feel  scorn  and  contempt  for  my  own  trouble,  which  is  so 
small  and  petty  compared  with  yours.  It  was  so  dreadful! 
And,  of  it  all,  the  worst  seems  to  me — "  she  paused,  and  laid 
her  hand  on  Sister  Agnes's  arm.  "  Your  little  child — " 

She  felt  the  sister's  arm  tremble. 

"  Did  you  never  hear  any  more  of  it?" 

"  They  took  me  to  see  its  grave,"  said  Sister  Agnes,  almost 
inaudibly.  "  It  was  a  nameless  grave  in  a  large  cemetery. 
If  it  had  lived —  But  it  is  wicked  to  repine.  My  little  one 
has  gone  to  heaven,  and  I  am  left  to  help  other  little  ones  to 
that  blessed  home  and  to  Him  who  said,  '  Suffer  the  little 
ones  to  come  unto  me.'  Sometimes  I  dream  that  he  lives, 
that  he  is  a  great,  strong  man,  as  brave  and  fearless  as  his 


And  you  have  never  seen  your  husband  since?"  asked 
Claire. 

"  Never,"  replied  Sister  Agnes.  "  I  heard  that  his  health 
had  broken  down,  that  he  had  gone  to  live  in  seclusion  at  his 
ancestral  home.  I  told  you  that  he  was  a  nobleman  and  very 
wealthy." 

"  Then  you  are  a  lady  of  title?"  said  Claire. 


222  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGS' A. 

*'  Yes,"  she  said.  "  I  am  the  wife  of  a  man  who  bears 
one  of  the  oldest  titles  in  England.  You  must  not  ask  mo 
what  it  is,  dear  child." 

"  No,  no!"  said  Claire,  quickly. 

"  When  I  took  the  vow  of  our  sisterhood,  I  passed  from  the 
world — left  it  behind.  It  is  dead  to  me.  If  I  could,  I  would 
forget  that  I  have  been  anything  but  Sister  Agnes.  Indeed, 
at  times,  the  past  seems  like  a  dream  to,  me — a  real  dream, 
from  which  those  few  minutes  in  which  I  saw  and  knew  my 
child,  alone  stand  out  distinctly." 

"  Dear,  dear  sister!"  said  Claire. 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two,  then  she  said:  "  Thia 
sisterhood,  sister,  can  I  not  join  it?  Would  they  take  me?" 
eagerly. 

Sister  Agnes  turned  her  face  for  the  first  time,  and  smiled 
as  she  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  my  child.  Only  they  who  have  done  with  the  world — 
who  can  turn  their  backs  upon  it  with  a  sure  and  certain  con- 
viction that  they  will  not  even  be  tempted  to  look  behind,  can 
tread  the  path  which  we  walk." 

«  i_»  Ibegan  Claire. 

Sister  Agnes  smiled  and  shook  her  head  again.  "  No, 
dear,  you  can  not  say  that.  I  know  you  better  than  you  know 
yourself.  Your  place  is  in  the  world  still." 

"  You  mean  that  I  am  stubborn  and  proud!"  said  Claire, 
half  rebelliously. 

"  Stubborn,  no;  but  proud,  yes,"  said  Sister  Agnes.  "  Your 
hold  on  life  and  life's  possibilities  is  still  strong.  Besides, 
my  child,  there  would  be  some  danger — "  she  paused,  and 
looked  at  Claire  with  tender  admiration.  '*  You  are  very 
beautiful,  dear.  Some  day,  some  man — God  grant  he  may 
be  good  and  true — will  see  this  fair  face  of  yours  and  try  to 
win  your  love." 

Claire  shrunk. 

"  No,  no!"  she  said.  "  Not  that!  I  have  no  heart  left, 
no  love  to  give.  I  have  done  with  all  that,  sister;  I  shall 
never  love  again.  You  call  me  proud;  I  have  been  deceived 
once.  I  am  too  proud— yes,  too  proud— ever  to  love  again. 
But  if  I  can  not  join  your  sisterhood — and  you  know  better 
than  I  do,  sister — I  can  fight  my  way.  I  want  to  get  well 
now.  As  I  said,  I  feel  ashamed.  I  want  to  get  well  and  go 
back  to  the  school,  and  take  my  place  in  the  work,  and  help 
others." 

Sister  Agnes  bent  over  her  and  kissed  her,  and  as  she  did  M 
u  te&r  fell  on  Claire's  face. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  223 

"  I  will  help  you,  dear,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  know  why  it 
is,  my  child,  but  you  have  grown  very  dear  to  me." 

"  That's  because  you've  nursed  me,"  said  Claire,  shrewdly. 
"  They  say  we  always  grow  fond  of  those  whom  we  help." 

"  I  think  we  do,"  said  Sister  Agnes  in  her  sweet  voice. 
"  But  even  that  will  not  account  for  it,"  she  added,  with  a 
smile,  as  she  smoothed  the  silken  hair  from  Claire's  white 
brow.  "  I  have  nursed  many,  have  sat  beside  numberless 
sick-beds,  but  have  never  felt  as  I  have  felt  toward  you. 
Sometimes  I  have  feared  that  I  have  been  wrong  in  cherish- 
ing my  fondness  for  you,  that  I  have  been  tempted  to  neglect 
my  duties  to  others;  but  you  are  just  the  one  ewe  lamb  to 
me." 

The  gentle  voice  lowered  and  the  tears  gathered  in  the  sad, 
patient  eyes. 

"  I  don't  know  why  it  is!  It  is  not  because  you  are  so  pretty 
— beware  of  beauty,  my  child,  it's  perils  are  many — but  as  I 
have  sat  beside  you,  while  you  have  been  lying  there  so  help- 
less, so  lonely,  somehow  the  thought  of  my  child,  the  little 
one  who  was  taken  from  me,  has  come  to  me,  and  I  have  seen 
my  baby  grown  up,  strong.  I  don't  know  why  this  is,  for  you 
are  a  girl,  and  he  would  have  been  a  man  if  he  had  lived. 
But  all  the  love  which  wells  up  in  my  heart  for  him  has  flown 
toward  you." 

Claire  stretched  out  her  white  arms  and  wound  them  round 
the  sister's  neck. 

"  Love  me  still,  Sister  Agnes!"  she  said,  with  a  sob.     "  Try 

to  think  that  I  am  your  daughter.     Oh,  I  wish  I  were!" 
******* 

About  this  time  Gerald  was  beginning  to  hobble  about  with 
a  stick,  and  wonder  what  was  to  become  of  him. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

GERALD'S  broken  leg  did  not  take  very  long  mending,  but 
it  seemed  an  age  to  him,  and  his  language,  when  the  doctor 
insisted  upon  his  keeping  the  injured  limb  in  a  horizontal  posi- 
tion long  after  Gerald  considered  any  precaution  of  that  kind 
unnecessary,  is  scarcely  fit  for  publication. 

Terence,  the  woodman,  behaved — like  an  Irishman;  that  is 
to  say,  he  treated  Gerald  as  a  brother,  and  nursed  him  like  a 
woman,  making  light  of  the  trouble,  and  declaring  that  he 
was  more  than  repaid  by  the  pleasure  of  Gerald's  company; 
and  he  found  it  difficult  to  persuade  Terence  into  allowing  him 
to  chop  wood  and  make  fagots,  which  Gerald  could  presently 


224  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT   REGHA. 

manage  in  a  sitting  position,  and  without  retarding  the 
recovery  of  his  leg. 

While  thus  employed,  he  had  plenty  of  time  to  think  of 
Claire,  and  he  thought  of  her  almost  without  ceasing.  Her 
coldness — almost  hcartlessness — amazed  and  bewildered  him. 
That  she  should,  in  sending  him  the  check,  barely  express  her 
regret  at  the  accident  seemed  so  unlike  her,  that  he  could 
scarcely  believe  his  senses;  and  he  used,  at  ever  meal-time,  to 
take  out  Mordaunt  Sapley's  letter  and  stare  at  it  as  one  stares 
at  a  Chinese  puzzle.  And  when  he  did  so,  he  tried  to  call  her 
all  the  names  which  men  bestow  upon  women  when  they  have 
proved  deceitful  and  unkind.  But  it  was  of  no  use;  he  loved 
her  still,  and  actually  endeavored  to  find  excuses  for  her.  He 
told  himself  that  she  had  done  quite  right,  that  it  was  like  his 
confounded  impudence  to  fall  in  love  with  her,  and  that  he 
had  only  got  what  he  deserved.  Then  he  would  kiss  the  glove 
•which  he  had  found  in  the  chapel,  and  thrust  it  into  his 
bosom  again  ai  the  sound  of  Terence's  footsteps. 

As  his  leg  got  well  and  strong  again  he  asked  himself  what 
he  was  going  to  do.  There  was  not  enough  work  in  the  wood 
for  a  permanent  extra  hand,  and  he  could  not  remain  a 
burden  on  Terence.  He  must  go  on  the  tramp,  and  find 
some  kind  of  employment. 

Consequently,  one  morning  he  packed  his  bag,  cut  himself 
a  stout  stick,  and,  after  breakfast,  announced  his  intention  of 
starting.  Terence  remonstrated  and  pleaded  in  vain — he  even 
offered  to  toss  whether  Gerald  should  remain  or  go—  and  at 
last,  with  a  sorrowful  countenance,  recognized  that  Gerald's 
resolution  was  immovable,  and  thrusting  a  closely  packed 
tobacco-pouch  in  his  hand — it  was  the  only  gift  he  dared  vent- 
ure on — wished  him  God-speed. 

"  Shure,  and  the  days  will  be  long  widout  yez,  and  the 
nights  longer!"  he  said,  sorrowfully.  "  I  niver  had  a  mate  J 
liked  better,  for,  barring  ye're  a  gintleman,  there's  divil  a  bit 
o'  fault  to  find  wid  yez!'* 

"  I'm  sorry  enough  to  go,  Terence,"  said  Gerald,  gripping 
the  man's  rough  hand.  "  You  have  been  a  brother  to  me; 
but,  you  see — well,  I  must  go." 

The  two  men  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  in  silence  for  a 
full  minute,  and  then  parted;  and  Gerald  went  on  his  way 
with  that  dull  little  ache  in  his  heart,  and  "  as  one  that  sor- 
roweth  deeply.'* 

"  If  ever  I  have  any  luck,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  I'll 
send  Terence  the  best  axes  Sheffield  can  turn  out." 

But  though  he  grieved  at  parting  with  this  true  friend,  he 


MISTRESS  OF  COUET  REGffA.  23d 

Was  not  very  much  cast  down  on  his  own  account.  There  are 
some  men  who  believe  in  their  luck,  or  their  "star/'  and 
Gerald  was  one  of  them.  He  had  always  fallen  on  his  feet, 
however  great  and  disastrous  the  tumble  happened  to  be,  and 
his  heart  was  full  of  courage.  For,  after  all,  how  little  a 
strong  man  needs!  For  breakfast,  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  loaf, 
three  halfpence;  for  dinner,  bread,  a  chop,  and  a  glass  of  ale, 
say,  eightpence;  for  supper,  bread,  cheese,  and  another  glass 
of  ale,  fourpence.  There  is  bed  to  be  reckoned;  but  in  sum- 
mer a  man  can  sleep  like  a  top  in  the  lee  of  a  haystack  or  a 
shed,  and  hi  winter  he  can  earn  a  night's  lodging  in  a  straw 
loft. 

And  Gerald  was  not  reduced  even  yet  to  his  last  coin,  and 
he  did  not  despair.  While  he  had  been  lying  by,  the  season 
had  advanced,  and  heavy  rain  had  fallen,  so  that  the  roads 
were  bad  and  traveling  was  slow;  but,  with  an  occasional  lift, 
he  made  pretty  good  progress,  and  he  hoped  to  reach  a  large 
town  before  the  close  of  the  week.  What  he  should  do  when 
he  reached  it  he  did  not  quite  know,  but  he  had  several  trades 
at  his  finger  ends,  and  made  no  doubt  that  he  should  get 
employment  of  some  kind  or  other. 

One  evening — it  was  the  third  day  of  his  tramp — he 
approached  a  picturesque  village  set  on  a  hill  overlooking  a 
small  port.  It  occurred  to  him  that  it  would  be  a  good  place 
to  stop  the  night  at — he  was  hungry  and  a  little  foot-sore — 
and  he  went  on  to  the  quay  and  asked  a  man  who  was  loung- 
ing there  the  name  of  the  place,  and  where  he  could  get  a 
lodging. 

The  man  said  the  place  was  called  Lartree,  and  directed  him 
to  the  inn. 

The  name  seemed  familiar  to  Gerald,  and  he  mumbled  it 
over  several  times,  as  one  does  when  trying  to  rouse  one's 
memory;  then,  suddenly,  it  came  to  him — it  was  the  place, 
the  little  port,  from  which  Lord  Wharton  had  brought  the 
strange  young  lady  aboard  his  yacht.  Gerald  had  almost  for- 
gotten Captain  Joslin's  romantic  story,  but  it  came  back  to  his 
mind  rather  vividly  under  the  singular  coincidence  which  had 
led  his  wandering  and  aimless  footsteps  to  the  very  spot;  and  as 
he  strode  up  to  the  inn  he  wondered  what  her  name  might 
have  been,  whether  any  of  her  folk  were  still  living,  whether 
the  story  of  her  flight  was  still  remembered,  and  what  had 
become  of  her. 

The  inn  was  as  picturesque  as  the  village  itself,  and  Gerald 
eat  his  supper  with  a  good  appetite,  and  beside  a  good  wood 
fire,  which  breathed  comfort  from  every  log.  The  landlady 
8 


226  THE  MISTRESS  01*  COURT  REGtfA. 

herself  waited  on  him,  and  as  assiduously  as  if  he  had  ordered 
the  best  room  and  a  sumptuous  spread,  instead  of  a  menl  of 
bread  and  cheese;  and  Gerald,  as  he  lighted  his  pipe,  haying 
still  the  captain's  story  floating  through  his  bram,  got  into 
conversation  with  her.  She  was  quite  ready  to  talk  with  a 
handsome  young  man,  who,  though  he  carried  a  bundle  and 
"  rode  on  a  walking-stick,"  was  evidently  a  gentleman;  but 
when  Gerald  began  to  ask  questions  he  found  that  she  was  a 
comparatively  new-comer,  and  had  never  heard  tell  of  any 
nobleman's  yacht  at  Lartree. 

"  They're  most  coal  and  stone  vessels  that  put  in  here, 
sir,"  she  said,  "  and  a  rough  lot  the  men  are,  though  they 
don't  mean  no  harm,  nor  do  any.  We  don't  see  a  gentleman 
in  these  parts  once  in  a  blue  moon;  you  must  let  me  mix 
you  "a  glass  of  toddy,  sir — it's  some  whisky  as  I've  had  by 
me  for  nigh  upon  ten  years — and  wouldn't  hurt  a  baby." 

"  I'm  not  afraid,  thank  you,"  said  Gerald,  with  his  pleas- 
ant smile,  which  called  up  an  answering  one  in  the  round  red 
face  of  the  landlady. 

He  drank  the  toddy,  and  then,  as  the  night  was  still  young, 
sauntered  out.  There  was  a  moon  shining  through  a  watery 
mist,  but  it  was  not  raining,  and  Gerald,  tempted  by  the 
weird  beauty  of  the  night  and  the  romantic  surroundings — 
Ireland  is  the  land  of  romance,  "  from  tree- top  to  farrow  " — 
he  strolled  through  the  tiny  village,  and  on  to  the  common 
just  beyond. 

Across  this  common  was  a  foot-bridge,  which  spanned  what, 
in  summer,  was  an  inoffensive  brook,  but  which  in  winter  too 
often  grew  into  a  swift  and  ugly-looking  river.  The  rains  had 
swollen  it  into  quite  a  formidable  torrent,  which  rushed  under 
the  bridge  and  swirled  round  the  rough  wooden  pillars  with 
an  angry  swish.  Just  below  the  bridge  was  a  road,  through 
which,  in  summer,  any  one  coming  into  or  leaving  Lartree 
drove.  In  flood-time  they  went,  perforce,  round  by  a  safer 
and  drier  road.  Gerald  leaned  over  the  bridge,  and  looked 
into  the  water  musingly.  As  was  always  the  way,  whenever 
he  saw  anything  pretty  or  curious,  he  longed  to  have  Claire 
by  his  side — absurd  and  preposterous  as  the  longing  was — to 
share  his  pleasure;  and  to-night  he  longed  for  her  rather  more 
than  usual.  It  is  hi  the  moonlight  that  "  lovers'  madness '" 
always  flourishes. 

He  was  turning  back  to  the  comfort  of  the  inn,  when  he 
heard  the  sound  of  wheels,  apparently  coming  in  the  direction 
of  the  bridge.  He  had  been  long  enough  in  the  country  to 
recognize  the  rattle  of  an  Irish  carriage;  this  was  not  one;  and 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  RESEAT  22? 

it  struck  him  as  curious  that  a  carriage  should  be  making  for 
the  spot,  which  seemed  barred  to  the  progress  of  anything  but 
a  boat.  He  lighted  another  pipe  and  stopped  where  he  was, 
to  await  the  development  of  events. 

A  carriage  came  to  the  edge  of  the  torrent,  and  there  paused. 

"  Going  to  turn  back,"  thought  Gerald;  but,  to  his  amaze- 
ment, the  driver  smacked  his  whip  and  seemed  to  be  urging 
the  horse  forward. 

;<  The  man  must  be  either  a  stranger,  and  ignorant  of  his 
danger,  or  drunk,  or  mad!"  thought  Gerald;  and  with  the 
intention  of  warning  him,  he  shouted  as  loudly  as  he  could. 
But  though  his  voice  was  by  no  means  feeble,  the  roar  of  the 
torrent  drowned  it;  and  he  started  off  at  a  sharp  run  across 
the  bridge  and  along  the  path  toward  the  carnage. 

He  was  too  late,  however,  for  the  horse,  unaware  of  the 
depth,  and  trusting  to  the  driver,  had  obediently  plunged  into 
the  water,  and  Gerald  was  horrified  to  see  him  swimming  and 
trying  to  stem  the  torrent.  As  he  stood  spellbound  to  the 
spot,  a  window  of  the  carriage  was  let  down  with  a  bang,  and 
a  man's  head  was  thrust  out.  Gerald  thought  he  heard  a 
woman's  voice  raised  in  a  cry  of  alarm  at  the  same  moment, 
but  he  could  not  be  sure. 

Gerald  ran  into  the  water  as  far  as  he  could,  and  shouted  to 
the  driver: 

"  You  confounded  idiot,  come  back!" 

It  was  easy  to  command,  but  impossible  for  the  man  to 
obey.  He  was  howling  and  swearing  now  as  only  a  drunken 
man  in  such  a  predicament  can;  and  the  horse  was  being  car- 
ried down  the  stream,  despite  its  most  frantic  efforts  to  reach 
the  opposite  shore.  Then  Gerald  unmistakably  heard  a 
woman's  scream,  and  a  cry  of  help  from  the  man  inside  the 
carriage.  The  vehicle  was  still  afloat,  and,  if  the  danger  had 
been  less,  Gerald  could  have  found  something  comical  in  the 
situation,  but  there  was  too  much  peril  for  laughter  to  come  in. 

Scarcely  knowing  what  he  was  doing,  or  what  he  wanted  to 
do,  he  tore  off  his  boots,  and  plunging  into  the  stream,  let 
himself  be  swept  to  the  carriage.  So  swift  was  the  current 
that  he  was  very  nearly  carried  past  the  impromptu  ark,  but 
he  managed  to  clutch  the  sides,  and  there  hung  helpless  and 
incapable  of  help. 

Suddenly  a  face  came  to  the  window,  and  so  close  to  his 
own  that  he  could  feel  a  warm  breath  on  his  brow.  It  was  a 
girl's  face,  white  with  terror,  and  the  two  eyes  that  looked 
into  his  in  the  moonlight  were  fixed  with  fear. 


228  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REQN1. 

"  All  right/'  he  shouted,  after  the  manner  of  his  kind. 
"  Don't  be  afraid;  it's  all  right." 

It  was  anything  but  all  right,  and  even  as  he  shouted  the 
assertion,  the  carriage  struck  against  one  of  the  piers,  the 
shafts  parted  from  the  vehicle,  and  while  the  horse  swam  off 
under  the  bridge,  snorting  with  terror,  the  carriage  began  to 
heel  over. 

Gerald  tore  open  the  door,  and  gripped  something  soft  and 
warm — it  was  the  girl's  arm — and  shouted: 

"  Come  with  me!" 

Even  if  she  had  been  inclined  to  remain,  his  strong  grasp 
would  have  compelled  her;  and  the  next  instant  they  were  in 
the  water  together,  Gerald's  arm  round  her  waist — and  she, 
of  course,  clinging  to  him  like  grim  death. 

"  Don't — don't  clutch  me,  for  God's  sake!"  he  said,  as  he 
felt  the  arms  tightening  round  his  neck,  and  knew  that  if  her 
terrified  embrace  continued  they  must  both  go  down.  "  Take 
hold  of  my  coat,  and  hold  tight!  I  can't  swim — do  any- 
thing— if  you  grip  me!" 

She  understood,  or  perhaps  her  hold  shifted  by  accident; 
anyway,  her  small  hands  slipped  to  his  coat,  and  Gerald  was 
free  to  make  a  fight  for  it. 

It  is  not  easy  to  save  a  drowning  person,  however  good  a 
swimmer  a  man  may  be;  if  any  one  doubts  this,  let  him  try  it 
in  a  swimming-bath,  and  be  convinced.  Gerald  could  swim 
as  well  as  most  men,  and  was  as  strong  as  a  Grecian  athlete, 
but  he  saw  that  the  only  thing  to  do  was  to  go  with  the  cur- 
rent, not  endeavor  to  oppose  it.  So  he  struck  out,  cleared  the 
bridge — no  small  danger — and  drifted  with  the  current.  It 
swirled  into  an  eddy  just  below  the  bridge,  and  he  thought 
they  would  be  sucked  down;  but  he  shut  his  teeth  tight,  and 
struck  out 

Right  above  them  the  moon  shone  down  through  the  thin 
veil  of  mist  with  an  aggravating  serenity  and  peacef ulness; 
the  trees  fringing  the  meadows  pierced  through  an  exquisite 
gauze.  If  they  were  going  to  die,  they  were  going  to  die 
amidst  a  scene  of  remarkable  beauty,  a  kind  of  weird  fairy- 
land— like  unto  the  transformation  scene  at  a  theater.  Even  at 
the  moment,  when  life  seemed  to  be  closing  forever,  and  death 
unpleasantly  near,  Gerald  could  not  help  noticing  the  beauti- 
ful frame  in  which  the  tragedy  was  set. 

"  Good-bye,  Claire!"  he  thought.  "  I  shall  never  know 
why  you  have  treated  me  so  badly." 

Then,  even  as  he  bid  her,  mentally,  farewell,  he  felt  hia 
feet  strike  the  ground.  It  is  the  loveliest  feeling  a  man  can 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  KEGNA.  22<* 

experience,  if  he  happens  to  be  drowning,  and  Gerald  eould 
not  refrain  a  shout. 

"  All  right,"  he  said  again;  "  cling  on  tight!  We're 
there!" 

A  moment  or  two  afterward  he  was  standing  on  the 
meadow,  stretching  his  arms,  and  drawing  a  long  breath,  and 
the  girl  was  lying  at  his  feet.  He  bent  down  and  raised  her, 
and  to  his  surprise  she  opened  her  eyes.  She  was  unconscious 
for  a  moment  or  two,  then  she  heaved  a  sigh  that  quivered 
through  all  her  frame,  and,  still  looking  at  him,  said: 

"  Are  we  still  alive?" 

"  Yes,  yes!"  responded  Gerald.  "  And  I  hope  you  are  not 
hurt.  Frightened,  of  course.  But  don't  faint " — she  had 
closed  her  eyes,  and  her  head  had  sunk  on  his  shoulder  again — 
"  for  I  must  go  and  see — there  was  some  one  else  in  the  car- 
riage?" 

"  My  father,"  she  breathed,  quickly.  "  I  shall  not  faint. 
Go!  oh,  go!" 

She  sunk  on  to  the  grass,  clasping  her  hands  and  peering 
into  the  mist,  and  Gerald  ran  along  the  edge  of  the  stream 
shouting.  He  almost  ran  into  the  arms  of  a  man  who  was 
shouting  also: 

"  Grace,  Grace!    My  daughter!" 

Gerald  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

*'  Your  daughter  is  quite  safe!"  he  said.  "  Don't  be 
alarmed." 

The  father  was  a  short,  thick-set  man,  with  a  strong, 
shrewd,  weather-beaten  face;  and  though  his  hair  was  gray, 
the  grip  he  laid  upon  Gerald's  arm  had  little  of  old  age  or 
•weakness  in  it.  "  Safe!  Grace  safe!"  he  panted.  "  "Where 
is  she?  Take  me  to  her!" 

"  Come  on,"  said  Gerald.  "  Where's  the  man — that  fool 
of  a  driver?" 

"  On  shore,"  said  the  gentleman. 

"  Ah,  Providence  watches  over  children  and  drunken 
men,"  said  Gerald,  shortly.  "  Here  is  your  daughter." 

The  girl  fell  into  her  father's  arms,  and  Gerald  turned  his 
back,  and  wrung  the  superfluous  water  out  of  his  clothes. 
Then  he  heard  the  girl  say,  remindingly,  "  Father!"  and  the 
old  man  turned  to  Gerald  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  My  daughter  owes  her  life  to  you,  sir!"  he  said,  with  a 
catch  in  his  voice,  and  tears  in  his  eyes,  which  were  already 
•wet  enough.  "  I  can't  thank  you — " 

Gerald  cut  in,  with  the  usual  awkwardness  of  the  bravi 


330  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

man  dodging  a  shower  of  thanks,  with  the  usual  common- 
place: 

"  Don't  mention  it.  I  was  standing  on  the  bridge — luckily 
— and  saw —  But  she  ought  not  to  stand  there  any  longer; 
she  must  be  wet  through, 

"  Yes,  yes!"  said  the  father,  anxiously.  "  Is  there  any 
place?* ' 

"  The  inn  is  only  a  little  way.  Let  me  show  you,"  said 
Gerald. 

The  old  man  took  his  daughter's  arm  within  his;  but  the 
excitement  waning,  he  was  trembling,  and  almost  as  much  in 
need  of  support  as  she.  This  Gerald  saw,  and  held  out  his 
arm  without  a  word.  She  looked  at  her  father,  and  then  at 
Gerald  for  an  instant,  then  put  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

Gerald  walked  her  along  quickly;  he  knew  the  danger  of 
loitering;  but  presently  she  stopped. 

"  I  can  not  go  so  fast,"  she  panted,  her  hand  on  her  heart. 

Gerald  looked  toward  the  village;  it  seemed  a  long  way  off, 
and,  making  no  bones  of  the  matter,  he  cut  etiquette,  and 
lifted  her  in  his  arms.  She  caught  her  breath,  but  offered  no 
resistance,  the  father  murmured  meekly,  "  Thank  you!"  and 
Gerald  carried  her  to  the  inn.  She  was  very  light,  too  light 
for  her  height,  and  she  nestled  down  in  his  arms  and  on  his 
broad  breast  like  a  tired  child. 

As  they  approached  the  inn,  men  came  out  with  lan- 
terns, which  were  quite  unnecessary,  shouting  excitedly;  and 
the  landlady  met  them  at  the  door  all  of  a  flutter  of  hospit- 
able anxiety.  The  girl  was  taken  from  his  arms,  and  whisked 
upstairs,  and  Gerald  stood  and  looked  round  the  inn-parlor, 
asking  himself  if  the  whole  thing  weren't  a  dream.  The 
sight  of  the  driver  steaming  in  front  of  the  fire  and  drinking 
neat  whisky  by  the  tumbler,  convinced  him  of  the  reality. 

Gerald  addressed  a  few  pointed  remarks  to  this  individual — 
which  were  received  more  with  sorrow  than  auger — and  then 
went  to  his  room  to  change  his  clothes,  leaving  a  stream  of 
water  trickling  behind  him. 

Opening  his  bag  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  left  the 
woodman  s  hut,  he  took  the  first  suit  that  came  to  hand;  it 
chanced — is  there  such  a  thing  as  chance  in  this  strange 
world  of  ours? — to  be  the  suit  ne  had  worn  the  last  time  he 
was  at  the  Court 


THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  BEGtfA.  231 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

WHEN  he  came  down  he  found  the  gentleman  clad  in  a  suit 
belonging  to  the  landlady's  son,  much  too  large  for  the  pres- 
ent wearer,  seated  beside  the  fire.  He  rose  as  Gerald  entered, 
and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Don't  be  afraid/'  he  said,  with  a  shrewd  smile.  "  I  am 
not  going  to  thank  you.  There  are  some  things  that  can't  be 
properly  thanked;  what  you  have  done  to-night  is  one  of 
them;  but  if  jou  think  I  don't  know  that  you  risked  your  life 
to  save  ours,  you  make  a  great  mistake.  I  know  it,  and  my 
daughter  knows  it."  His  eyes — they  were  sharp  and  keen — 
the  eyes  of  a  man  who  has  had  to  keep  them  pretty  wide  open 
during  his  way  through  the  world — grew  moist. 

"  I  hope  she  is  not  ill!"  said  Gerald. 

The  gentleman  shook  his  head. 

"  She  is  not  strong  at  the  best  of  times,"  he  said,  gravely, 
"  and  this — but  we  will  hope  for  the  best.  But  for  you  there 
would  be  no  hope  left  for  me  by  this  time."  He  tried  to 
repress  a  shudder. 

"  I  trust  she  will  get  a  good  night's  rest,  and  be  all  right 
in  the  morning,"  said  Gerald.  "She  was  very  brave." 

"  Women — especially  when  they  are  delicate — always  are," 
responded  the  father.  '*  A  woman  will  face  things  that  will 
make  a  man  quail.  But  as  to  a  night's  rest — "  He  shook 
his  head.  "  She  is  all  nerves.  She  is  coming  down  directly." 

"  Is  that  wise?"  said  Gerald. 

The  old  man  laughed  and  sighed,  but  said  nothing  in 
response. 

"  Let  me  introduce  myself,"  he  said.  "  My  name  is 
Harling,  Kobert  Harling.  I  have  just  returned  to  England 
from  Australia— will  you  bring  this  gentleman  a  glass  of  hot 
whisky  and  water,  if  you  please,  ma'am?  I  shall  be  glad  to 
know  the  name  of  the  man  to  whom  I  owe  a  debt  which 
nothing,  nothing  on  earth  can  repay!" 

"  My  name  is  Way  re— Gerald  Wayre,"  said  Gerald. 

He  was  piling  up  the  logs  on  the  fire  as  he  spoke — to  make 
a  blaze  by  the  time  the  girl  came  down— and  did  not  see  the 
start  which  Mr.  Harling  gave,  or  the  amazed  expression  of  his 
face  at  the  sound  of  Gerald's  name. 

"Wayre?"  he  said,  with  a  dry  cough.  "Did  you  say 
Wayre?  How  do  you  spell  it?  You  see,  it's  only  natural  I 
should  be  curious." 


232  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

Gerald  smiled,  and  spelled  his  name. 

"  Thanks,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  I  shall  not  forget  it. 
Here's  your  whisky;  oblige  me — oblige  me!— by  drinking  ai 
much  of  it  as  you  can  at  a  gulp!  And  here,  alas!  is  my 
daughter.  My  dear  Grace,  if  you  would  only  go  to  bed!" 

Gerald  turned  and  saw  a  strange  sight — a  beautiful  girl,  fair 
as  a  lily,  with  flaxen  hair  and  blue  eyes — dressed,  swathed, 
rather,  in  one  of  the  landlady's  best  frocks.  His  smile  of 
amusement  struggled  with  the  admiration  and  surprise  at  her 
beauty.  She  stood,  with  downcast  eyes,  for  a  moment,  the 
color  coming  and  going  in  her  face,  then  she  raised  her  eyeg 
and  poured  a  glance  of  gratitude  and  womanly  admiration  of 
his  heroism  upon  him.  It  was  so  intense,  so  magnetic,  that 
it  took  Gerald's  breath  away,  and  made  him — well,  as  awk- 
ward and  embarrassed  as  ever  a  poor  man  can  be. 

"  Come  to  the  fire,  Miss  Harling,"  he  said,  after  he  had  got 
his  breath  back  again.  "I'm  afraid  you  ought  to  be  in  bed; 
but  as  you  are  here — why — why —  Do  you  feel  cold — fever- 
ish? Perhaps  a  doctor — " 

"  I  am  not  cold — I  am  not  anything,  but — but  wretched 
with  my  inability  to  say  what  I  want  to  say.  Father,  you 
have  thanked  him?  Have  you  told  him  that — that— we  know 
he  saved  my  life  at  the  risk  of  his  own?" 

"  Yes,  Grace,  yes!"  he  said.  "  But,  like  all  brave  men, 
Mr.  Wayre  " — he  looked  at  her  with  a  compression  of  the  lips 
and  a  warning  frown  as  he  spoke  the  name,  as  if  commanding 
her  not  to  express  surprise;  but,  notwithstanding  this  signifi- 
cant caution,  she  started  slightly  and  glanced  questioningly  at 
Gerald,  who  was  doing  something  at  the  bar — "  Mr.  Wayre 
refuses  all  thanks.  Nevermind.  He  knows." 

"  Have  you  ever  tasted  whisky,  Miss  Harling?"  asked  Ger- 
ald, with  rather  startling  abruptness. 

She  opened  her  eyes  upon  him. 

"No!    Why?" 

"  Then — with  your  father's  permission — you  are  going  to 
taste  it  for  the  first  time,"  he  said;  and  he  held  out  a  glass, 
mixed  as  strong  as  he  dared. 

She  looked  at  him  and  shrunk  back,  then  she  raised  her 
eyes  to  his,  and  took  the  glass  as  meekly  as  a  lamb. 

Her  father  smiled. 

"  I  might  have  begged  and  implored  hi  vain,"  he  said,  half 
comically.  "  Thank  you,  Mr.  'Wayre.  It's  just  what  she 
wants." 

"  It  is  odious,"  she  said,  with  a  shudder.  "  But,"  with  a 
heavenly  smile — oh,  when  will  women  learn  the  power  of  such 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGIU.  233 

a  smile!  But  perhaps  it  is  better  for  us  that  they  should 
not—' '  I  will  drink  h.  Not  all. " 

"  I  am  afraid  it  must  be  all,"  said  Gerald,  firmly.  "  Don't 
be  afraid.  It  is  good  whisky,  and  there  is  not  a  headache  in 
a  gallon  of  it." 

"  May  I  not  have  some  more  water?"  she  pleaded. 

"  1  think  not.  You  have  had  the  water  already,  you 
know,"  he  said. 

She  laughed — a  faint,  soft  little  laugh,  like  a  tired  child's — 
and  leaned  back,  with  half-closed  eyes;  but  the  half  that  was 
open — and  women  see  so  much  with  half  an  eye — was  fixed  on 
Gerald. 

Mr.  Harling  signed  to  Gerald  to  draw  his  chair  up  to  the 
fire. 

"  What  about  your  things?"  said  Gerald. 

"  Fortunately,  we  only  had  a  Gladstone  bag  with  us," 
responded  the  old  man,  with  the  philosophical  air  of  a  man 
who  has  roughed  it.  "  The  rest  is  lying  at  the  hotel  at  Blag- 
ford;  the  landlady  has  sent  in  for  it.  You  know  Blagford,  of 
course?" 

"  No,"  said  Gerald.  Mr.  Harling  looked  at  him  with 
veiled  surprise,  and  Gerald  explained:  **  I  am  a  stranger 
here." 

"  A  stranger?"  echoed  the  old  man,  as  if  thrown  off  his 
guard  for  a  moment. 

"  Yes,"  said  Gerald.  "  I  only  arrived  here  this  evening, 
and  I  am  off  to-morrow." 

The  half-open  eyes  opened  wholly,  and  then  closed. 

"  You  are  traveling  for  pleasure?"  asked  Mr.  Harling. 

Gerald  stretched  out  his  legs  and  smiled. 

"  Well,  scarcely/'  he  replied.  "  I  am  looking  for  employ- 
ment. I  am  making  for  one  of  the  large  towns;  there  is  more 
scope  there  than  in  the  villages." 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  with  a  kind  of  constrained 
interest. 

"  What  is  your— your  business?"  he  asked.  "  Please  for- 
give me  for  seeming  curious.  The  occasion  almost  warrants 
it,  doesn't  it?" 

"  Oh,  don't  apologize,"  said  Gerald  in  his  frank  way. 
"  I've  so  many"  businesses  that  Pm  troubled  to  answer;  but 
I'm  not  particular  as  to  the  kind  of  work.  I've  been  chop- 
ping wood  for  some  weeks  past,"  he  added,  simply. 

The  old  man  stared  at  him,  stared  at  his  clothes,  at  his 
face,  at  his  hands.  Once  or  twice  in  his  life  Gerald  had  been 
forced  to  wish  that  he  was  not  a  gentleman — or,  at  least,  did 


234  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

not  look  one.  To  be  a  gentleman  and  poor  enough  to  be  in 
search  of  manual  labor  is  to  be  suspected  of  all  and  every 
kind  of  evil.  Mr.  Harling  looked  at  him  gravely,  his  keen 
eyes  reading  Gerald's  handsome  face,  as  it  were,  then  he 
smiled,  as  if  any  doubts  Gerald's  speech  had  raised  were  dis- 
pelled, and  he,  Mr.  Harling,  was  satisfied,  and  he  laughed. 

"  In  the  place  I  came  from  a  gentleman  down  on  his  luck 
is  always  regarded  with  suspicion." 

"  Father!"  said  a  soft  voice. 

"  Hold  on,  Grace!    But,  1  am  sure  that  in  your  case — " 

"  Oh,  I  am  passing  honest,  as  Hamlet  says/'  said  Gerald, 
with  a  smile.  "  But  I  happen  to  be  poor.  It's  a  crime  in 
most  countries;  it's  almost  a  capital  one  this.  Some  day,  I 
suppose,  we  shall  reach  the  top  height  of  civilization,  and  put 
poor  men  to  death;  a  painless  death — say,  by  electricity;  at 
present  we  are  allowed  to  go  about — in  search  of  work.  I  am 
an  architect,  painter,  horse-breaker,  cattle-runner,  sailor,  and 
one  or  two  other  things,  so  that  there  isn't  much  danger  of 
my  starving." 

"  And  you  do  not  live  here?"  asked  Mr.  Harling,  after  a 
pause,  during  which  he  had  seemed  to  be  digesting  Gerald's 
curt  information. 

"  No!"  said  Gerald.  "  I  live  nowhere,  as  the  phrase 
goes." 

"  You  may  have  friends  here?"  asked  the  old  man,  with 
an  uneasy  kind  of  carelessness. 

"  No/'  said  Gerald. 

Miss  Grace  opened  her  eyes  again. 

"  You  forget  that  we  are  sitting  here,"  she  said  in  a  very 
low  voice. 

"  Thank  you!"  said  Gerald. 

"  And  where  were  you  employed  last,  Mr.  Wayre?"  asked 
Mr.  Harling. 

Gerald  winced,  but  answered  after  a  moment:  "  At  a  place 
in  Downshire;  I  was  altering  an  old  mansion.  But  the  work 
was  interrupted.  Since  then  I  have  been  doing  a  little 
amateur  forestry,  but  I  met  with  an  accident — a  tree  fell  a 
little  too  previously,  and  I  broke  my  leg." 

Miss  Grace  uttered  a  faint  cry  of  sympathy,  and  leaned  for- 
ward. 

"I  am  all  right  now,"  said  Gerald,  quickly,  to  reassure 
her.  "  A  broken  leg  sounds  worse  than  it  is,  and  doesn't 
count,  if  it  is  well  set.  I'm  none  the  worse  for  it." 

It  doesn't  prevent  your  swimming,  anyway,"  remarked 
.Mr. 


THE'MISTRESS  o*  COURT  REGHA.  #35 

Gerald  laughed. 

"  To-morrow  I  am  going  to  resume  my  tramp.'" 

Miss  Grace  rose. 

"  Will  you  help  me  upstairs,  father?"  she  said. 

"  I  will  say  *  good-bye/  Miss  Harling,"'  said  Gerald.  "  I 
shall  probably  have  started  before  you  are  awake  to-morrow." 

She  gave  him  her  small,  thin  hand,  and  though  he  did  not 
notice  the  fact,  it  fluttered  in  his  strong  palm. 

When  Mr.  Harling  came  down  again  he  lighted  his  pipe, 
and  smoked  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  then  he  said: 

"  I  think  you  said  you  were  a  painter,  Mr.  Wayrej  do  you 
paint  portraits?" 

"  Yes,  after  a  fashion,"  Gerald  replied. 

"  Will  you  paint  my  daughter's?"  asked  the  old  gentleman, 
as  if  he  were  asking  a  favor. 

Gerald  hesitated.  He  knew  that  Mr.  Harling  was  not 
dying  to  have  Miss  Grace's  portrait,  and  that  the  offer  was 
prompted  by  paternal  gratitude;  he  hesitated,  and  was 
inclined  to  refuse;  then  he  thought,  "  What  a  charming 
picture  Miss  Grace  would  make!"  and  said:  "  Certainly;  but, 
pardon  me,  you  have  no  proof  of  my  capacity." 

"  I  never  yet  found  a  brave  man  a  braggart  or  a  fraud," 
said  the  old  gentleman,  laconically.  "  And  I  have  every  con- 
fidence in  your  ability  to  carry  out  anything  you  undertake. 
We  shall  stay  here  for  a  little  time — the  place  looks  pretty, 
and — and  interesting."  He  stared  at  the  fire  as  he  spoke. 
"  And  we  are  not  tied  for  time.  In  fact,  we  are  just  wander- 
ing about  as  colonials  do  when  they  come  back  to  the  old 
country.  How  soon  can  you  get  to  work?" 

"  As  soon  as  I  can  procure  materials,"  said  Gerald.  "  I 
will  go  into  Blagford  to-morrow  and  buy  them — to-morrow 
morning." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  Mr.  Harling,  "  that's  settled. 
As  to  the  price — " 

"  Oh,  you'd  better  wait  till  the  picture's  finished,"  said  Ger- 
ald, with  his  infectious  laugh.  "  And  then  I  hope  you  won't 
pay  me  only  what  it's  worth." 

The  old  gentleman  eyed  him  shrewdly. 

"  Don't  undervalue  yourself,"  he  said.  "  It's  a  waste  of 
time  and  labor,  seeing  that  there's  plenty  of  people  will  do  it 
for  you.  Good-night!"  He  shook  Gerald's  hand  heartily, 
and  tramped  up  the  stairs,  but  half-way  up  he  paused,  auj 
looked  round. 

"  1  think  you  said  you  didn't  know  this  place  at  all." 

"  Not  at  all,"  assented  Gerald. 


£36  ^THE  MISTRESS   OF  COURT   REGffA. 

"  Ah,  just  so.  I  thought,  if  you  did,  you  might  show  ua 
round;  it  looks  interesting." 

"  How  do  you  know?"  Gerald  asked,  with  a  laugh,  "  You 
haven't  seen  very  much  of  it." 

Mr.  Harling  laughed  in  response,  and  looked  rather  con- 
fused. 

"  Just  so!    Just  so!"  he  said,  and  went  on  his  way. 

Before  the  father  and  daughter  were  down  the  next  morn- 
ing, Gerald  started  for  BJagford.  He  was  fortunate  enougli 
to  find  a  man  who  dealt  in  artists'  materials,  and  he  purchased 
the  necessary  tools  for  the  work  which  had  so  strangely  and 
romantically  fallen  into  his  hands. 

When  he  got  back  to  the  Golden  Harp,  as  the  inn  at  Lar- 
tree  was  called,  he  saw  Mr.  Harling  standing  outside  the  door, 
with  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  as  if  awaiting  him. 

"  You  don't  let  the  grass  grow  under  your  feet,  Mr. 
"Wayre,"  he  said,  as  he  eyed  the  parcel  under  Gerald's  arm. 

"  Well,  you  see,  a  man  can't  live  on  grass,"  said  Gerald. 
"  How  is  Miss  Harling  this  morning?  I  hope  she  will  be  well 
enough  to  give  me  a  sitting  after  lunch;  but  I  must  not  worry 
her— '; 

"  Oh,  she'll  be  ready,"  said  Mr.  Harling.  "  She  likes  the 
idea."  He  tried  to  look  as  if  he  had  not  suggested  it.  "  1  have 
been  having  a  look  around  while  you  have  been  to  Blagford." 

"  I  hope  you  found  the  place  as  interesting  as  you  imagined 
it,"  said  Gerald,  arranging  his  materials  in  a  cozy  little 
sitting-room,  which  Mr.  Harling  had  engaged,  and  into  which 
he  had  led  the  way. 

"Eh?  Oh,  yes,  yes!  I've  been  having  a  talk  with  some 
of  the  old  inhabitants." 

"  And  found  the  old  inhabitants  as  uncommunicative  and 
stupid  as  usual,  I  suppose,"  said  Gerald.  "  It's  extraordinary 
what  a  heap  of  things  the  old  inhabitant  can  manage  to 
forget." 

"  Well — yes,"  assented  the  old  gentleman,  thoughtfully. 
"  He  doesn't  appear  to  remember  anything  excepting  his 
attack  of  measles  at  the  age  of  seven.  All  between  that  and 
the  present  time  is  a  blank." 

He  spoke  as  if  he  were  disappointed  about  something. 

"  Ah,  well,  time  works  changes!  You'll  give  us  the  pleas- 
ure of  your  company  at  lunch,  Mr.  Way  re?" 

But  Gerald  declined,  explaining  that  he  had  got  a  crust  of 
bread  and  cheese  at  Blagford,  and  that  he  would  prepare  hia 
canvas,  so  as  to  be  ready  when  Miss  Harling  was  ready  for 
him. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGSTA.  237 

After  lunch  Mr.  Harling  gave  him  a  call,  and  he  went  in. 
Tt  was  evident  that  the  luggage  had  come  from  Blagford,  for 
Miss  Harling  was  attired  in  her  own  clothes;  and  very  pretty 
and  graceful  she  looked,  Gerald  thought.  She  greeted  him 
with  a  little  blush,  and  said  yes,  she  was  quite  ready. 

Gerald  set  up  his  portable  easel  in  a  good  light,  and  placed 
a  chair  for  her. 

"  I'm  only  going  to  paint  the  half  figure,"  he  said.  "  So 
I'll  have  all  the  light  I  can  on  your  face.  May  I —  Thanks!" 
and  he  posed  her. 

The  color  deepened  in  her  singularly  fair  face;  her  eyes 
were  downcast  as  he  turned  her  this  way  and  that,  until  he 
had  got  the  required  position. 

"  I  suppose  I  am  to  look  pleasant?    Am  I  to  smile?" 

"Look  natural,"  said  Gerald.  "That  will  be  pleasant 
enough,  Miss  Harling." 

Mr.  Harling  chuckled. 

"  You've  learned  one  half  of  the  portrait-painter's  art,  any- 
how, Mr.  Wayre,"  he  said,  "  the  art  of  flattery." 

"  No,"  said  Gerald,  candidly.  "  It  was  only  my  way  of 
expressing  satisfaction  with  my  subject,  and  my  despair  of 
doing  it  justice." 

"  You  ought  to  be  able  to  look  pleasant  after  that,  Grace," 
said  the  old  gentleman,  much  amused. 

Gerald  began  the  rough  sketch;  and  Mr.  Harling  watched 
with  keen  interest  and  a  rather  surprised  approval. 

"  You  can  smoke,  Mr.  Wayre.  Eh,  Grace?"  he  said,  as 
he  filled  his  own  pipe.  "  My  daughter's  used  to  tobacco." 

"  Thanks;  presently,"  said  Gerald,  absorbed  in  his  work. 
"  Please  look  straight  before  you,  Miss  Grace." 

Grace  had  felt  her  eyes  heavy  under  his  abstracted  gaze,  but 
she  raised  them  obediently,  her  color  coming  and  going  in 
exquisite  rose  tints. 

Gerald  worked  on  quickly  and  firmly.  He  had  a  keen  eye, 
and  that  peculiar  audacity  which  is  one  of  the  artist's  most 
valuable  possessions,  and  the  face  as  it  grew  upon  the  canvaa 
interested  him.  Presently  he  was  conscious  of  a  strange  feel- 
ing. It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  seen  the  face,  or  one  that 
bore  a  resemblance  to  it,  before,  and  he  paused  in  his  work 
and  stared  at  his  sketch. 

"Anything  wrong?"  asked  Mr.  Harling,  who  was  im- 
mensely interested  in  every  stroke. 

"  No,  no!"  said  Gerald.  "  Nothing— excepting,  of  course, 
that  I  am  more  sure  every  moment  that  I  shall  only  per- 
petrate a  libel  on  Miss  Harling." 


388  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGKA. 

"  Hem!  doesn't  look  like  it,"  remarked  her  father. 

"  You  have  been  abroad  some  time?"  asked  Gerald, 
thoughtfully.  Surely  he  could  not  have  met  the  girl  and  for- 
gotten her! 

"  All  my  life,"  replied  the  old  gentleman.  "  1  went  to 
Australia  a  boy,  and  came  back  a  few  weeks  ago.  You  look 
as  if  you  had  been  abroad  a  good  deal,  Mr.  Wayre.  Is  that 
so?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Gerald.  "  I  ran  away  to  sea  when  I  was  a 
lad,  and  have  been  wandering  ever  since." 

Mr.  Harling  glanced  at  him  quickly.  "  Your  people  are 
English?"  he  said. 

I — believe  so,"  said  Gerald.  "The  fact  is,  I  scarcely 
know.  I  was  brought  up  by  some  people  who  had  adopted 
me.  They  lived  at  a  place  called  Worsley,  near  Southamp- 
ton— I  suppose  it  was  seeing  so  much  of  shipping  that  gave 
me  a  taste  for  the  sea.  I  wasn't  very  happy,  and  so  I  cut  and 
run." 

Mr.  Harling  puffed  at  his  pipe. 

;<  You  were  an  orphan,  then?"  he  said. 

Gerald  nodded.  "  Worse,  if  that  is  possible,  for  I  never 
knew  my  mother  and  father,"  he  said,  very  quietly. 

"  And  these  people,  what  did  you  say  their  name  was?" 

Gerald  had  not  mentioned  their  name,  but  he  gave  it, 
absently. 

"  Porson,"  he  said. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Harling.  *'  They  weren't  good  to 
you?" 

"  Well,  scarcely  that.     But  I  felt  free  to  make  a  bolt  of  it. " 

"  You  must  have  been  glad  to  see  your  friends  when  you 
came  back,"  remarked  Mr.  Harling  in  a  casual  voice. 

"  I  haven't  any,"  said  Gerald.  "  The  Persons  were  living, 
are  alive  still,  and  I  was  glad  to  see  them;  but  there  was  no 
one  else.  I  haven't  a  relation  in  the  world  that  I  know  of. 
I  am  afraid  you  mustn't  look  quite  so  grave,  Miss  Plarling." 

Grace  started,  and  blushed;  then  Gerald,  afraid  that  she 
was  getting  bored  and  tired,  began  telling  them  some  of  his 
adventures,  very  much  as  he  had  told  them  to  Claire.  And 
the  girl  listened  with  rapt  attention,  her  face  responding,  like 
a  musical  instrument,  to  the  touch  of  his  mood.  At  times  he 
made  her  smHe— and  the  fair  face  was  rendered  beautiful  by 
the  smile — and  now  and  again  he  made  her  shudder;  but  he 
skated  rapidly  over  perils  and  privations,  and  dwelt  on  the 
humorous  side  of  his  life's  story  as  much  as  possible.  It  k 


THE  MISTKESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  239 

scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  he  said  nothing  of  Court  Regna. 
That  was  a  sealed  page  of  the  book. 

Once  or  twice  she  was  so  absorbed  and  interested  that  she 
forgot  her  duties  as  a  sitter  and  moved  her  head  round  to  him, 
and  Gerald  had  to  go  to  her  and  put  her  straight  again.  Ho 
did  it  in  the  most  mechanical  way,  and  as  if  he  were  adjusting 
a  lay-figure;  but  every  time  he  touched  her  the  color  rose  to 
her  face  and  her  breath  came  and  went  in  a  fluttering  way. 

"  You've  had  an  eventful  career  for  a  young  man,  Mr. 
Wayre,"  said  Mr.  Harling. 

Gerald  looked  at  him  with  some  surprise.  He  had  thought 
that  the  old  gentleman  had  scarcely  been  listening. 

"  You  ought  to  have  made  your  fortune." 

Gerald  laughed.     "  A  rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Harling.  "  I've  been  on  the 
roll  all  my  life,  but  I'm  thankful  to  say  that  I  have  gathered 
a  little  moss."  He  spoke  quite  modestly,  and  without  a  trace 
of  bragging.  "  That's  why  I  have  come  home,"  he  went  on, 
simply.  "  We  all  come  home  when  we've  made  our  pile, 
don't  we?" 

Gerald  nodded. 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  he  said.  "  I  hope  to  make  mine 
some  day,"  he  added,  but  without  much  eagerness;  for  the 
thought  flashed  through  him  that  all  the  money  in  the  world 
would  not  bring  him  the  only  thing  he  wanted.  Surely  it  was 
not  because  he  was  poor  that  Claire  had  refused  him  and  dis- 
missed him! 

"  I  think  you  will,"  said  Mr.  Harling,  quietly.  "  It's 
mostly  a  matter  of  luck,  after  all.  I  grubbed  on  for  years, 
until  I  came  upon  the  Butterfly  Mine," 

Now,  most  people  who  have  to  do  with  mining  have  heard 
of  the  wonderful  Butterfly,  and  Gerald  opened  his  eyes. 

"  The  Butterfly?"  he  exclaimed,  with  much  interest.  "  You 
were  in  that?" 

"  I  found  it,"  said  Mr.  Harling,  quietly. 

Gerald  looked  at  him  and  laughed. 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  he  said.  "  There  must  be  millions 
in  it." 

"  There  are,"  assented  the  old  gentleman,  as  quietly  as  be- 
fore. 

Miss  Grace  fidgeted  and  moved,  so  that  Gerald  had  to  stopt 

"I  do  hope  you  are  not  going  to  talk  money!"  she  said, 
almost  irritably.  "  I  hate  the  sound  of  the  word." 

"  All  right,  my  dear,"  said  her  father,  with  all  a  father's 
meekness.  "  It  cropped  out  in  a  natural  way."  He  turned 


240  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGNA. 

to  Gerald.  "  My  daughter  has  a  horror  of  being  thought 
purse-proud,"  he  explained,  apologetically.  "  You  see,  we 
have  met  some  of  the  specimens  of  the  self-made  people, 
and — well,  Grace  doesn't  like  the  make,  and  is  afraid  that 
people  will  think  we're  stamped  with  the  same  mark.  So  we 
avoid  the  subject,  Mr.  Wayre." 

Gerald  smiled.  *'  I  understand,"  he  said.  "  And  yet  it  is 
the  one  subject  most  people  are  really  fond  of." 

"  Then  we  are  exceptions,  please,  Mr.  Wayre,"  said  Miss 
Grace,  almost  plaintively. 

Her  father  nodded.     "  You  see?"  he  said. 

Gerald  nodded  in  response.  "  We  won't  mention  it  again — 
until  you  pay  for  the  portrait. "  And  he  laughed.  But  both 
father  and  daughter  rose  in  his  estimation.  The  man  who 
had  discovered  the  wonderful  Butterfly  must  be  a  millionaire, 
or  very  nearly  one;  and  yet,  unlike  most  millionaires,  he 
avoided  the  topic  of  money,  alluded  to  his  honestly  gotten 
wealth  half  shamefacedly,  and  bore  no  traces  of  it  about  him 
in  the  shape  of  fine  clothes  or  jewelry.  Both  father  and 
daughter  were  plainly  dressed,  and  were  quite  free  from  any 
hint  of  ostentation.  Gerald's  interest  in  them  increased  as  he 
pondered  over  his  work. 

Presently  he  noticed  that  Miss  Grace  looked  tired. 

"  That  will  do  for  to-day,  Miss  Hading,"  he  said.  *'  I  am 
afraid  I  have  worn  you  out.  Artists  have  no  feelings — where 
their  sitters  are  concerned." 

"  I  am  not  tired,"  she  said,  with  a  smile.  "  I  will  stay 
like  this  as  long  as  you  like." 

"  Which  is  not  one  moment  longer,"  he  said,  firmly,  as  he 
laid  down  his  brush.  She  looked  at  him  gratefully,  and 
Gerald  put  his  things  aside  and  went  out. 

"  That  young  fellow's  a  born  gentleman,  Grace,"  remarked 
Mr.  Harling,  emphatically.  She  was  standing  by  the  window, 
watching  Gerald  striding  along  the  road,  and  she  did  not  turn 
her  head. 

"  Have  you  only  just  discovered  that,  father?"  she  said, 
rery  quietly. 

A  born  gentleman,"  responded  the  old  man,  "  for  all 
he's  poor  and  struggling." 

"  Was  it  because  he  was  poor  and  struggling  that  you 
found  it  necessary  to  tell  him  that  we  were  rich — disgustingly 
rich?"  she  said,  with  dangerous  sweetness. 

Mr.  Harling  reddened. 

"  You're  hard  upon  me,  Grace.     It  slipped  out  unaware^ 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  241 

and  before  I  knew  it.  You  don't  think  I  was  bragging, 
Grace?" 

"No,  no!"  she  said,  more  gently.  "But — I  am  sorry." 
And  she  left  the  room. 

The  portrait  was  resumed  the  next  day,  and  the  next. 
Every  morning  she  was  posed  by  the  window,  and  Gerald 
worked  at  the  canvas.  Sometimes  Mr.  Harling  was  present, 
but  very  often  he  left  them  alone  together— Gerald  was  a  gen- 
tleman, and  could  be  trusted — or  strolled  in  and  out,  taking 
his  pipe  from  his  mouth  to  offer  some  criticism  or  express  his 
approval.  For  the  portrait  promised  to  be  a  good  one,  and, 
in  consequence,  Gerald  was  quite  absorbed  in  it — so  absorbed 
that  he  did  not  know  that  his  sitter's  eyes  often  dwelt  upon 
him  with  a  dreamy  tenderness,  to  be  turned  away  swiftly  when 
he  looked  up.  And  even  if  he  caught  her  gaze  he  would  not 
have  suspected  the  truth,  that  love  was  growing,  springing  up 
like  some  tropical  plant  with  amazing  growth,  within  her 
heart;  for  Gerald  was  the  least  vain  of  men. 

How  could  she  help  loving  him!  There  was  a  powerful 
charm  in  that  frank  and  genial  manner  of  his,  and  he  was 
strong  and  handsome  too  boot.  Day  after  day  she  spent  hours 
with  him,  was  brought  under  the  spell  of  his  manly  tender- 
ness, the  charm  of  his  dark  eyes,  with  the  mysterious  sadness 
lurking  in  them,  the  music  of  his  voice,  which  became  more 
musical  when  he  addressed  women — gentle  or  simple.  His 
very  unconsciousness  of  his  power  over  her  only  helped  to 
increase  and  intensify  it,  and  so  it  came  to  pass  that  she  lived 
only  when  he  was  present,  and  spent  the  weary  hours  of  his 
absence  thinking  or  him. 

As  the  picture  grew  under  his  hand,  the  resemblance  to 
some  face  he  had  seen  and  forgotten  became  more  distinct  to 
him,  and  one  day  he  said,  absently: 

**  I  wonder  who  it  was?" 

She  was  looking  at  him,  and  he  started  as  he  spoke,  and 
averted  her  gaze 

"  Who  what  was?"  she  asked.  "  Do  you  talk  in  your  sleep, 
Mr.  Wayre?  I  don't  know  whether  you  know  it,  but  you 
spoke  aloud  then." 

"  Did  I?"  he  said,  with  a  laugh.  "  I  beg  your  pardon.  It 
is  very  strange,  but  you  are  like  some  one  I  have  seen,  Miss 
Harling,  and  I  can't  think  who  it  was." 

"  That  is  strange,"  she  said;  "  I  don't  think  you  can  have 
met  any  of  my  relations.  They  are  all  in  Australia — that  is, 
on  my  mother's  side.  My  father's  are  English,  but  he  has 
not  found  any  yet,  though  he  seems  to  be  always  looking  for 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA. 

them.  I  fancy  he  has  an  idea  some  of  them  may  be  in  ths 
part  of  the  world,  though  he  does  not  say  anything  about  it; 
but  I  know  he  has  been  making  inquiries  in  this  neighborhood. 
Can't  you  remember  who  it  was?" 

Gerald  shook  his  head  thoughtfully. 

"  Was  it  a  man  or  a  woman?" 

"  A  woman,  I  think." 

"  Was  she  pretty?" 

"  Of  course,"  he  said  in  a  matter-of-fact  way. 

She  blushed,  and  glanced  at  him. 

"  Isn't  that  rather  too  obvious?"  she  said. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon!  Oh,  I  see!  Well,  Miss  Harling,  you 
have  a  looking-glass  in  your  room,  I  expect." 

The  blush  deepened,  and  her  eyes  were  cast  down. 

"  You  are  not  offended,  I  hope?"  he  said,  apologetically. 
"  Perhaps  as  I  am  an  artist  I  may  be  allowed  to  remark  that-- 
I  am  satisfied  with  my  subject.  You  are  not  angry?" 

"No;  I  ought  to  be/'  she  said. 

Gerald  laughed. 

"  I  don't  know.  Most  women  would  be  pleased,  wouldn't 
they?" 

'  It  depends  upon  who  says  it,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Oh,  well,  I'm  privileged,"  he  responded. 

She  looked  at  him  quickly,  and,  with  a  little  catch  in  her 
voice,  said: 

"  Privileged — you?" 

"  As  an  artist,"  he  said,  innocently. 

She  turned  her  head  away,  and  the  color  faded  from  her 
face. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  you  have  moved,"  he  said.  "  One 
moment — that's  not  quite  as  you  were.  Allow  me  " — all 
unconsciously,  as  if  she  were  the  usual  lay-figure,  he,  gently 
enough,  put  her  in  the  former  position.  His  hand  scarcely 
touched  her,  but  she  fell  a-trembling,  her  lips  quivered,  and 
her  eyes  closed. 

He  thought  she  was  going  to  faint,  and  looked  at  her,  and 
then  round  the  room,  with  all  a  man's  alarm  and  Heaven-for- 
saken helplessness. 

"What  a  brute  I  am!  You  are  tired  out!  I'd  forgotten 
the  time  you  have  been  sitting  here.  Don't  faint!  Yes,  Fm 
a  brute!" 

'*  No,  no!"  she  said;  and  she  stretched  out  her  arm  as  if  to 
etop  him  from  ringing  the  bell.  "  I  am  not  faint;  only — 
only  a  little  tired;  I  don't  think  I  am  even  that!  And—and 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGKA.  243 

please  don't  call  yourself  names.     I— I— don't  like  to  hear 
it." 

Her  blue  eyes,  ^  still  moist,  looked  up  into  his  with  that 
expression  which  is  the  most  dangerous  a  woman  can  wear — 
the  look  of  appealing  tenderness  and  veiled  admiration.  She 
was  very  beautiful  at  that  moment — woman  is  at  her  bust 
when  love  is  throbbing  at  her  heart  and  shining  through  her 
eyes— but  Gerald  was  untouched.  There  was  no  heart  in  his 
bosom  to  be  touched— Claire  Sartoris  had  taken  it  thence 
months  ago. 

^  "  That's  nonsense!"  he  said,  as  a  brother  might  speak  to  a 
sister.  "  You  are  tired,  and  you  shaVt  sit  any  longer! 
Why,  you  are  quite  pale — " 

"  I  am  not  pale!''  she  declared.  "Please  go  on!"  but 
her  hand  still  lingered,  ah,  so  lovingly,  on  his  strong  arm,  and 
the  blue  eyes — heavenly  blue,  with  love's  own  azure — looked 
up  into  his. 

Gerald  thought,  "  How  pretty  she  is!  I  shall  never  do  her 
justice!"  and  that  was  all. 

"  I  sha'n't  paint  you  any  more  to-day,"  he  said. 
'  You — you  are  obstinate!"  she  murmured. 

"  I'm  a  perfect  mule  when  I  like!"  he  said.  "  Come  into 
the  open  air — it's  not  so  very  cold.  Here,  put  this  round 
you."  He  caught  up  one  of  the  awful  antimacassars,  and 
threw  it  round  her.  "  I'll  get  your  father  to  take  you  for  a 
drive  this  afternoon.  I've  kept  you  indoors  all  these  fine 
mornings.  Yes,  I'm  a  brute,  and  that  just  describes  me!" 

She  let  him  take  her  out,  and  she  leaned  upon  his  arm. 
And  he  was  very  tender  and  gentle  with  her.  The  woman 
who  reads  these  lines  will  understand  how  that  very  gentle- 
ness and  tenderness  increased  the  pain  and  the  wordless  long- 
ing in  Grace's  heart — the  man  reader  will  not. 

In  the  afternoon  they  went  for  a  drive,  for  Gerald  had 
gained  a  great  influence  over  Mr.  Harling,  and  had  only  to 
suggest  a  thing  to  insure  its  accomplishment.  They  drove 
through  the  lovely  Irish  country,  and  Gerald,  who  accom- 
panied them,  expatiated  upon  the  beauty  of  the  scenery;  but 
Grace's  eyes  were  more  often  on  his  face  than  on  the  emerald 
green  meadows  and  violet  hills. 

He  dined  with  them  that  night — as  a  rule  he  refused  their 
invitations— and  all  through  the  dinner  those  blue  eyes  sought 
his,  instantly  to  be  diverted  when  he  looked  their  way.  After 
dinner  she  leaned  back  in  an  arm-chair  and  listened,  with  half- 
closed  eyes,  to  Gerald's  and  her  father's  talk. 


244  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGHA. 

Gerald  was  speaking  of  some  old  ruins  he  h»d  seen  in 
America;  and  Mr.  Harling  was  much  interested. 

"  I've  got  some  sketches  somewhere,'*  said  Gerald.  "  Wait 
a  moment." 

He  went  up  to  his  room,  and  came  down  again  with  some 
papers,  and  pulled  out  the  sketch  he  had  alluded  to,  and  the 
two  men  talked  for  a  time,  then  went  out  to  look  at  the  night. 

Grace  rose,  and  moved  about  the  room  with  the  restlessness 
of  a  girl  in  her  condition — just  waiting  for  the  man  she  loved 
to  come  back  and  bring  the  light  of  his  presence  with  him. 

Her  eyes  fell  upon  the  sketches,  and  she  took  them  up 
eagerly.  They  were  his,  had  been  drawn  by  his  hand,  were 
instinct  of  him. 

She  turned  them  over  one  by  one,  admiring,  though  she 
was  no  artist,  the  bold,  strong  drawing,  the  faculty  which 
made  them,  slight  though  they  were,  impressive;  then,  sud- 
denly, she  started,  and  her  fingers  closed  over  one  sketch. 

It  was  the  picture  of  a  girl  on  horseback.  Only  a  pencil- 
drawing,  but  so  life-like,  so  eloquent,  so  strongly  endowed 
with  reality,  that  it  was  almost  as  if  the  live  girl  and  the  live 
horse  stood  before  her. 

A  woman's  instinct  is  a  wonderfully  mysterious  thing.  It 
rarely  fails.  As  she  looked  at  the  drawing,  Grace's  heart 
seemed  to  contract  under  the  grip  of  an  icy  hand.  She 
scanned  the  beautiful  features,  the  graceful  figure,  with  an 
agonized  scrutiny. 

"  Oh,  she  is  beautiful,  beautiful!"  she  moaned,  with  dry 
lips.  "  It  is  she — she  who  stands  between  us!" 

The  room  grew  indistinct,  and  seemed  to  be  whirling  round 
her;  she  dropped  the  sketches  in  a  disordered  heap,  and 
clutching  the  table  with  both  hands,  sobbed: 

"Father!    Father!" 

But  when  Mr.  Harling  came  in  a  few  minutes  afterward, 
they  found  her  lying  back  in  the  chair  as  they  had  left  her, 
and,  apparently,  asleep. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

GERALD  gathered  up  the  sketches  carelessly,  and  in  doing  so 
let  one  fall  to  the  ground.  It  was  Claire's  portrait.  He 
picked  it  up,  and  his  face  went  crimson  and  then  pale,  and  he 
stood  as  if  suddenly  overwhelmed  by  some  sharply  awakened 
memory.  He  did  not  see  that  G  race  was  looking  at  him,  her 
face  lined  with  pain;  indeed,  he  seemed  for  the  moment  to 
have  forgotten  the  presence  of  the  other  two. 


TEE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  245 

Recovering  his  composure,  he  thrust  the  sketch  in  the 
breast-pocket  of  his  coat,  and  resumed  the  conversation;  but 
he  talked  absently,  and  soon  afterward  said  good-night. 
When  he  got  up  to  his  room,  he  took  the  sketch  from  his 
pocket,  and  with  it  came  out  the  papers  he  had  found  in  the 
old  bureau  at  Court  Regna.  He  looked  at  them  for  a  moment 
or  two,  but  without  unfolding  them,  before  he  could  remem- 
ber from  whence  he  had  got  them;  then,  with  an  exclamation 
of  annoyance  at  his  carelessness,  he  folded  them  up,  and  put 
them  into  an  envelope,  and  directed  it  to  Miss  Sartoris,  and, 
that  he  might  not  forget  them  in  the  morning,  he  stuck  the 
envelope  in  the  front  of  the  looking-glass.  Then  he  sat  down 
and  looked  at  the  portrait. 

He  certainly  had  not  forgotten  Claire  during  the  last  week 
or  so,  and  his  love  for  her  had  not  decreased;  but  his  work  at 
Grace's  portrait,  the  close  companionship  with  the  father  and 
daughter,  had  occupied  his  mind  and  prevented  him  from 
brooding  over  his  disappointed  love,  as  he  had  brooded  while 
lying  alone,  for  weary  hours  after  his  accident,  in  the  hut. 
But  now  the  sight  of  the  beautiful  face  set  his  heart  all 
tingling  again,  and  woke  up  anew  the  lover's  longing.  He 
wondered  whether  she  had  forgiven  him  yet  for  daring  to  love 
her,  whether  she  was  still  at  the  Court,  and  whether — hardest 
and  bitterest  thought  of  all! — some  one  else  had  won  her! 

After  a  time  he  could  not  endure  to  look  upon  the  face — all 
so  perfect  to  him — and  he  put  it  in  his  pocket  with  a  sigh, 
and  went  to  bed  to  dream  of  her. 

When  he  got  up  in  the  morning,  the  first  thing  that  his 
eyes  fell  upon  was  the  envelope  containing  the  papers,  and  he 
remembered  that  he  had  inclosed  them  without  a  word. 
Surely  that  was  discourteous!  He  must  write,  at  least  a  line 
or  two.  But  that  "  line  or  two  "  seemed  very  difficult  and 
almost  impossible,  and  he  put  the  envelope  in  a  drawer, 
resolving  to  compose  the  few  words  after  breakfast.  It  was 
so  difficult  to  say  anything  that  would  not  appear  as  if  he 
wanted  to  open  a  correspondence  with  her. 

"  Not  that  I  need  be  afraid,"  he  thought,  sadly.  "  She 
will,  no  doubt,  tell  Mr.  Sapley  to  acknowledge  them,  just  as 
she  told  him  to  send  me  that  confounded  check." 

The  sitting  that  morning  was  a  failure.  Miss  Grace  seemed 
to  have  lost  interest  in  the  picture,  or  to  be  out  of  sorts;  and 
Gerald,  brooding  over  Claire,  felt  as  if  he  could  not  work. 
Grace  was  very  docile  and  gentle,  and  sat  as  he  told  her,  but 
her  face  was  quite  colorless,  and  there  was  a  dull  look  of  pain 
and  weariness  in  her  eyes  which  was  quite  strange  to  him. 


246  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  KEG2TA. 

She  did  not  steal  covert  glances  at  him  this  morning,  but 
gazed  straight  before  her  like  one  in  a  dream,  and  a  sad  one; 
and  when  he  spoke,  she  did  not  turn  her  head  with  the  quick 
attention  and  the  prompt  smile  which  she  had  hitherto  accord- 
eJ  him,  but  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  opposite  wall. 

Her  changed  manner  puzzled  and  troubled  Gerald.  He 
wondered  whether  he  had  said  or  done  anything  to  offend  her, 
and  once  he  stopped  in  his  work  and  looked  at  her  with  fixed 
attention.  As  if  she  felt  the  intentness  of  his  gaze,  she  said, 
without  turning  her  eyes  to  him: 

"  Is  there  anything  the  matter,  Mr.  Wayre?" 

"  I  was  wondering  whether  I  might  venture  to  ask  that 
question,  Miss  Grace/'  he  said  in  his  outspoken  fashion.  "  I 
was  just  asking  myself  whether  I  could  have  done  anything 
to  offend  you." 

The  color  rose  to  her  face,  but  very  faintly,  and  her  eyes 
dropped,  as  if  to  hide  the  tears  that  had  risen  to  them. 

What  a  question!"  she  said,  with  forced  lightness,  but 
with  a  stifled  sigh.  "  Let  me  reassure  you.  You  have  not. 
How  could  you  have  done  anything?" 

"  1  don't  know,"  he  said,  but  hesitatingly,  as  if  he  were 
not  quite  satisfied.  "  One  never  knows — at  least,  I  don't — 
I'm  such  a  clumsy,  outspoken  idiot,  and  always  blundering 
against  somebody's  feelings,  like  a  bull  in  a  crockery  shop." 

;<  You  have  broken  no  crockery  in  my  case,"  she  said. 
"  Why — why  did  you  think  you  had?" 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  your  face  made  me  afraid  and  doubt- 
ful." 

"  My  poor  face!"  she  said,  with  a  laugh  that  rang  rather 
sad  and  rueful.  "  It  must  be  difficult  to  paint  fair  women; 
when  they  lose  their  color,  they  lose  their  all.  I  know  that  I 
am  as  expressionless  as  a  sheet  of  note-paper  this  morning. 
It  is  because  I  feel  tired,  I  suppose.  1  am  sorry  that  I  am 
not  dark,  Mr.  Wayre."  She  had  pictured  the  unknown 
original  of  the  sketch  as  dark. 

1      Gerald  looked  at  her,  all  bewildered  by  the  tinge  of  bitter- 
ness in  her  voice,  and  slowly  began  to  clean  his  brushes. 

"  What  are  you  doing?"  she  asked,  for  she  had  learned  to 
know  his  movements. 

"  Putting  the  things  away,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"  Please  don't!"  she  said.  "  You — you  will  make  me 
ashamed  of  myself  and  unhappy.  Please  go  on!  I  will  try 
and  look  brighter." 

Seeing  that  it  would  distress  her  ii  lie  refused,  he  took  up 
his  brush  again. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  24? 

'  Were  all  your  lady-sitters  as  tiresome  and  provoking  as  I 
am?"  she  asked,  after  a  pause,  and  with  affected  carelessness. 

"  Most  of  them  more  so,"  he  said.  "  You  are  a  model  of 
patience  and  amiability.  No,  it's  not  empty  flattery/'  he 
went  on,  as  she  smiled.  "  I  have  never  known  any  one — so 
gentle  and  long-suffering." 

"  And  you  have  painted  a  good  many?" 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  absently. 

"  In  England?"  she  asked.  The  longing  to  know  the  name 
of  the  girl  on  horseback  possessed  her— the  longing  and  the 
dread. 

He  looked  at  her  with  some  surprise. 

"  No,  I  have  painted  no  one  in  England  but  you,  Miss 
Grace,"  he  said;  then  he  remembered  the  pencil-sketch  of 
Claire,  and  his  brows  drew  together;  but  it  was  not  a  paint- 
ing, and  he  did  not  correct  himself. 

She  glanced  at  him  wistfully,  and  sighed. 

"  I  hope  the  picture  will  be  a  success,"  she  said.  "  Will 
you  send  it  to  the  Academy?" 

"  No,"  he  replied.  "  It  will  certainly  not  be  good  enough 
for  that.  All  I  dare  hope  for  is  that  it  may  be  something  like 
you — it  can  not  be  half  beautiful  enough — but  it  may  give  an 
idea,  a  suggestion  of  the  original." 

His  words  brought  the  color  to  her  face,  and  her  eyes 
lighted  for  a  moment;  then  the  color  faded  away  again;  for  a 
woman  knows  that  the  man  who  loves  her  does  not  speak  of 
her  beauty  so  calmly. 

"  That  is  nonsense!"  she  said,  almost  brusquely.  "  I  am 
not  nearly  so  pretty  as  that  picture — and  you  know  it!" 

As  she  spoke,  Mr.  Harling  entered.  He  came  into  the 
room  with  a  little  bustling  air,  as  if  he  were  rather  excited 
about  something,  and  he  looked  round  in  an  eager,  restless 
kind  of  way.  He  had  some  letters  in  his  hand,  and  he 
glanced  at  them  and  then  at  Gerald  irresolutely,  as  if  he 
wanted  to  say  something;  but  ultimately  he  put  the  letters  in 
his  pocket,  as  if  he  had  decided  not  to  speak  of  the  matter  on 
his  mind. 

"  Well,  how  are  you  getting  on?"  he  asked. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Grace,  promptly  and  wearily. 

"  You  don't  look  up  to  much  this  morning,  Grace,"  ho 
said.  "  A  little  off  color,  and — eh,  Mr.  Wayre?" 

"  Yes/'  said  Gerald.  "  Miss  Grace  is  tired,  and  I  am  not 
going  to  do  any  more  this  morning." 

"Wants  a  change,  perhaps?"  said  Mr.  Harling.  "  What 
do  you  say  to  running  away  for  a  day  or  two,  Grace?  I've 


248  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COUKT 

had  some  letters  this  morning,  one  of  'em  on  business  in 
another  part  of  the  old  country;  and  I  must  run  over  there. 
I'll  take  pou  with  me;  the  change  will  do  you  good.  We 
needn't  be  away  long.  You  won't  mind  giving  the  picture  a 
rest  for  a  day  or  two,  Mr.  Wayre?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Gerald  at  once.  "  Besides,  I  needn't  be 
idle.  I  can  paint  in  the  background,  and  get  on  generally. 
I'm  going  to  put  a  Japanese  screen  behind  the  figure — an  old- 

Sld  and  bronze  affair;  and  I  can  do  that  without  troubling 
iss  Grace  for  a  day  or  two." 

"  That's  all  right,  then/'  said  Mr.  Harling.  "  We'll  start 
to-morrow  morning,  and  get  back  as  soon  as  we  can." 

Grace  drew  a  long  breath.  The  thought  of  leaving  Gerald, 
even  for  a  few  days,  brought  a  sharp  little  pain  with  it. 

"  And  we'll  go  for  a  drive  this  afternoon,  eh?"  continued 
the  old  gentleman,  rubbing  his  hands,  and  fidgeting  up  and 
down  the  room.  "  A  drive  will  do  you  both  good,  for  you 
look  rather  down  in  the  mouth  this  morning,  Mr.  Wayre." 

Gerald  flushed. 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right,"  he  said,  cheerily.  "  But  I  should 
like  the  drive  all  the  same." 

It  was  a  pleasant  afternoon — of  course,  with  a  shower  or 
two — and  Grace  seemed  to  grow  more  cheerful  after  the  first 
mile  or  so.  Gerald  did  his  best  to  entertain  her,  and  she  had 
him  entirely  to  herself,  for  her  father  appeared  to  be  in  an 
extremely  thoughtful  and  preoccupied  mind,  and  to  be 
scarcely  aware  of  their  presence.  Every  now  and  then  he 
•would  glance  at  Gerald  in  a  peculiar  wav,  and  then  whistle 
softly,  after  the  manner  of  old  men  when  they  have  something 
on  their  minds  and  can  not  speak  of  it. 

In  the  evening  they  were  sitting  round  the  fire;  Grace  was 
leaning  back  and  looking  tired  and  somewhat  sad,  and  the  two 
men  were  playing  draughts,  a  game  of  which  Mr.  Harling  was 
curiously  fond.  Gerald  could  beat  him  easily;  but  he  often 
spared  his  opponent,  and  extended  mercy  so  cleverly  that  Mr. 
Harling  never  detected  it,  as,  chuckling  with  enjoyment,  he 
scored  the  game.  Now  and  again  Grace  would  lean  forward 
and  watch  them,  and,  of  course,  she  saw  Gerald's  kind 
imposition,  and  she  showed  him  that  she  did  so  by  a  faint 
smile  and  shake  of  her  head.  Notwithstanding  her  pallor, 
she  looked  very  beautiful,  with  a  spiritual  loveliness  which 
struck  Gerald  more  forcibly  than  it  had  ever  done  before. 
She  was  gentleness  itself,  and  her  love  for  her  father  displayed 
itself  in  her  eyes  when  they  rested  on  him,  and  in  a  hundred 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGffA.  J&4S 

little  ways  by  which  every  tender-hearted  woman  can  reveal 
her  affection. 

Gerald  thought  what  "  a  nice  girl "  she  was,  and  what  a 
capital  wife  she  would  make,  and,  involuntarily,  he  sighed. 

If  he  had  never  met  Claire!  But  even  if  he  had  seen  Grace 
before  Claire,  how  could  he,  a  penniless  adventurer,  have 
asked  the  daughter  of  a  millionaire  to  be  his  wife? 

^  Presently  she  rose  to  say  "  good-night,"  and,  in  his  admira- 
tion and  liking  for  her,  Gerald,  in  all  innocence,  held  her 
hand  a  little  longer  than  usual. 

"You  will  be  glad  of  your  holiday,  Miss  Grace,"  he  said, 
smiling  at  her  rather  pensively.  "  And  I  hope  you  will  come 
back  quite  strong  and — " 

Her  hand  fluttered  in  his,  and  her  eyes  sunk. 

"  Thank  you/'  she  said,  with  a  slight  catch  in  her  breath. 
"  And  you,  too,  will  be  glad  of  a  holiday?" 

"  No,"  he  said,  curtly.  "  I  shall  not.  I  shall  miss  you 
very  much,  and  sha'n't  'know  what  to  do  with  myself  except 
by  counting  the  hours  until  your  return." 

She  looked  at  him  for  an  instant — a  quick,  searching  gaze — 
then  she  sighed,  withdrew  her  hand,  and  left  the  room. 

Her  father  looked  after  her — we  all  know  the  look  of  love 
and  anxiety! 

"  She  is  not  strong,"  he  said,  as  if  to  himself,  rather  than 
to  Gerald.  "  Her  mother  died  of  consumption,  and  " — he 
cleared  his  throat — "people  think  money  brings  happiness." 
He  laughed  grimly.  "  Of  all  the  nonsense  that  ever  passed 
current  for  truth,  that's  the  rankest.  I'd  give  every  penny 
I've  got,  and  be  content  to  take  up  a  spade  and  work  in  the 
fields,  if  I  could  have  my  poor  girl  hale  and  hearty  as  one  of 
the  farmer's  laborer's  daughters.  Here — speaking  of  money — 
confound  it!— hadn't  I  better  give  you  some  on  account  of 
that  portrait?  I  don't  know  how  you  stand,  my  boy  " — he 
often  addressed  Gerald  in  some  such  affectionate  terms  as 
this — "  but  I  know  what  it  is  to  be  short;  and  you  won't  take 
offense,  I'm  sure." 

"  Of  course  I  won't,"  said  Gerald,  frankly.  "  Yes,  I  am 
short.  Give  me  five  pounds,  Mr.  Harling. " 

The  old  gentleman  looked  dissatisfied. 

"  Is  that  enough?  I'm  not  much  of  an  art  critic,  but  I've 
sense  enough  to  know  that  that  portrait  you're  painting  is 
worth  a  great  many  five-pound  notes.  Let  me  make  it 
twenty— fifty." 

Gerald  laughed. 

"  We'll  compromise,  and  say  ten,"  he  said. 


230  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGHA. 

Mr.  Hading  took  one  from  a  thick  bundle  of  notes,  and  put 
it  in  Gerald's  hand. 

"I  wish  you'd  let  me — well,  well!  I  never  paid  money 
more  willingly,"  he  added;  "  and — and  look  here,  I'm  a  man 
of  few  words,  but  what  I  say  I  mean.  I  want  you  to  consider 
me  your  banker.  I'm  serious.  Perhaps,  some  day  you'll 
understand — "  He  stopped  short.  "  Anyway,  I  can't  for- 
get you  saved  her  life,  and  I  want  you  to  feel  that  you  can. 
draw  on  me  for  " — his  face  grew  red,  and  his  eyes  almost 
fierce — "  for  half  a  million,  if  you  like!" 

Gerald  was  touched,  and,  as  usual,  he  covered  his  emotion 
with  a  laugh. 

"  Thanks!"  he  said.  "  But  I  shouldn't  know  what  to  do 
with  half  a  million  if  I  had  it." 

"I'm.  sure  /  don't!"  said  Mr.  Harling,  ruefully.  "  Some- 
times I've  thought  of  buying  a  big  house,  and  setting  up  as  a 
country  gentleman;  but  I've  got  a  touch  of  the  Wandering 
Jew  in  me,  and  I  know  that,  as  sure  as  fate,  I  should  want  to 
up  sticks  and  be  off  just  about  the  tune  I  had  thought  Fd 
settled  down.  And — and  there's  Grace  " — he  paused  and 
looked  at  the  fire — "  I  shouldn't  like  my  girl  to  be  the  prey 
of  some  fortune-hunter;  and  I  know  well  enough  that  if  we 
lived  up  to  our  confounded  money,  they'd  flock  around.  I'd 
rather  see  her  the  wife  of  an  honest  carpenter,  say,  than  one  of 
the  sort  I  have  in  my  mind." 

"  Miss  Grace  has  too  much  sense  to  make  a  wrong  choice," 
said  Gerald.  "  She  is  worthy  of  the  best  man  that  ever 
lived  I"  He  spoke  warmly,  and  the  old  man  glanced  at  him 
rather  wistfully. 

"  That's  so!  Of  course  I  agree  with  you.  But  you've 
known  her  long  enough  to  know  what  she  is — the  best  and 
most  loving  daughter  a  man  ever  had." 

A  meaner  man  than  Gerald  might  have  thought  Mr.  Har- 
ling was  flinging  his  daughter  at  his  head;  but  Gerald  had  no 
such  suspicion. 

"  She  has  seemed  so  much  better  lately,"  said  Mr.  Harling, 
after  a  pause;  "but  to-day  she  has  fallen  back  to  what  she 
was  before  we  came  here.  I  noticed  the  change  last  night 
when  she  said  good-night.  I  know  her  looks  so  well,  you  see." 

"  Depend  upon  it,  the  change  will  do  her  good,"  said  Ger- 
ald, encouragingly. 

'  Yes,  yes;  I  hope  so!"  said  the  old  man.  "  I'm  going  on 
business —  He  paused  a  moment.  "  You  don't  take  much 
interest  in  the  people  about  her^  do  you?" 

Gerald  shook  his  head. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REOKTA.'  251 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  I  have  scarcely  spoken  to  any  of  them — 
excepting  the  men  who  come  into  the  inn.  Why?" 

"Nothing — nothing!"  responded  Mr.  Hading,  quickly. 
"  I  only  asked —  Well,  it's  time  to  go  to  bed,  I  suppose. 
I'm  sorry  you  won't  take  the  twenty  or  the  fifty,  my  boy." 

But  Gerald  refused,  with  a  shake  of  the  head. 

The  Harlings  started  the  next  morning.  As  Gerald  put 
Grace  into  the  carriage,  he  chose  a  great,  soft  fur  traveling- 
wrap  from  the  multitudinous  shawls  and  rugs,  and  wrapped  it 
round  her. 

"  Stand  up,  please,"  he  said  in  his  pleasant,  masterful  way. 
"  The  air  is  rather  sharp  this  morning,  and  you  must  not 
catch  cold  at  starting. " 

"  I  sha'n't  catch  cold,"  she  said;  but  she  stood  up  all  the 
same,  and  he  wound  her  up  in  it  "  like  a  mummy,"  as  she 
declared. 

"  Good  things  are  rare  and  precious  nowadays,  Miss  Grace," 
he  said;  "  and  when  we  find  them  we  take  care  of  them. 
Now,  you  are  not  to  get  outside  of  that  until  you  reach  the 
station,  and  then  you  are  to  put  it  on  again." 

"  Who  made  you  my  keeper?"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 
Then,  as  the  significance  of  the  question  smote  her,  she 
crimsoned. 

Gerald  was  all  unconscious. 

"  Never  you  mind,"  he  said,  with  affected  sternness. 
"  You've  got  to  do  as  you're  told.  Good-bye!  Come  back 
strong  and  well;  and,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  be  longer  than 
you  can  help!" 

He  shook  the  daintily  gloved  little  hand,  and  the  carriage 
started,  with  the  usual  Irish  fuss  and  noise. 

Grace  sunk  back;  but  Mr.  Harling  looked  after  the  stalwart 
figure  as  long  as  it  was  visible. 

"  Splendid  fellow!"  he  said.  "  It's  like  parting  with  one's 
own  son.  You  like  him,  Grace,  eh?" 

She  could  not  speak  as  she  battled  with  her  tears.  He 
looked  at  her,  and  his  weather-beaten  face  grew  red  and  then 
pale. 

"  Grace,  my  dear,  my  dear!"  he  murmured,  aghast,  as  the 
truth  flashed  upon  him. 

"  Don't — don't  speak  to  me — not  yet — for  a  little  while!" 
she  said  in  a  broken  whisper. 

He  leaned  forward,  his  face  all  lines,  and  took  her  hand  and 
pressed  it.  "  I — I  didn't  know— oh,  my  dear!  But — "  with 
a  note  of  hope  and  encouragement  in  the  word. 


253  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGtfA. 

"  No,  no!"  Bhe  said,  with  a  little  gasp.  "  He  will  notS 
He  will  not!  I  know  it!" 

"  But,"  he  stammered,  "  you — he  said  himself  how — how 
pretty  you  are — he  knows  how  good;  he — " 

"  No,  no!"  she  murmured,  passionately.  "  He  never  will 
care  for  me — like  me!  There — there  is  some  one  else!" 

The  father  gasped. 

"  Yes,  there  is  some  one  else!  Do  not  speak  of  it  again, 
father!  Never  even  look  it!  It  can  never  be— what  you 
want!  There  is  some  one  else  he  loves  with  all  his  heart. 

"  How  do  you  know?"  he  asked. 

"  Never  mind.  I  know.  But,  father,"  leaning  forward, 
with  tearful  eagerness,  "  you  won't  let  it  make  any  difference 
in  your  feeling  toward  him;  remember,  he  saved  my  life,  and 
at  the  risk  of  his  own." 

The  old  man  sighed. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  after  a  pause.  "  I'm  not  likely  to  for- 
get— it.  No,  it  sha'n't  make  any  difference.  But — but — I 
can't  give  up  hoping.  No  man  with  a  heart  in  his  bosom 
could  help  loving  you,  Grace — if  you — loved  him,  and  he 
knew  it." 

She  shivered,  as  if  with  cold.  "  But  he  must  never  know 
it.  Do  you  hear,  father?  I  should  die  of  shame.  Yes,  I 
should  die!  He  must  never  know!  And,  father,  you  must 
still  be  his  friend.  He  is  poor  and  friendless,  and  I  am  sure 
he  has  had  some  trouble.  Perhaps  it  is  connected  with  her  ! 
If  so,  father,  we  must  help  him.  Do  you  hear — understand? 
Why  do  you  look  so  stern?  It  is  not  his  fault  that  I — love 
him.  He  can  not  help  it.  He  has  never  spoken  a  word 
that— that — a  brother  might  not  say  to  his  sister,  a  gentleman 
to  his  friend.  It  is  not  his  fault,  but  mine,  all  mine!  And, 
father,  I  want — I  want  to  make  him  happy.  Perhaps  it's 
money,  the  want  of  money,  that  separates  them — if  so,  you 
must  help!  Father,  I — I  owe  him  so  much!" 

"  Your  life — yes!"  he  said,  gloomily. 

"  No!  more  than  my  life.  The  greatest  happiness  a  woman 
ever  knows." 

"  Happiness?"  he  echoed,  incredulously. 

"  Yes!  It  is  happiness  to  love,  dear,  even — even  if  one  can 
not  get  love  in  return." 

He  did  not  understand,  poor  old  man.  How  could  he? 
But  h*  kept  silence  as  if  he  did;  which  was  the  best  thing  he 
could  do. 

When  they  had  gone,  Gerald  began  at  the  background  of 
the  portrait.  They  say  that  an  artist  always  falls  in  love  with 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  253 

his  subject — more  or  less — and  Gerald  regarded  the  painted 
face,  with  its  extraordinary  fairness  and  girlish  charm,  rather 
sadly.  He  missed  the  father  and  daughter  very  much. 
Grace  especially.  It  seemed  very  dull  and  dreary  all  day 
without  the  old  man's  bustling  presence  and  the  girl's  soft, 
gentle  voice.  It  seemed  to  ring  in  his  ears  and  haunt  him. 
When  it  grew  dusk  he  went  for  a  walk,  and  thought  of  Claire; 
and  when  he  went  to  bed  he  took  the  envelope  from  the 
drawer  and  tried  to  compose  those  few  words  which  were  to 
accompany  the  papers.  But  they  wouldn't  "  come,"  and  he 
tossed  the  envelope  into  the  drawer  again. 

That  night  he  dreamed  of  her.  It  was  a  strange  dream.  He 
thought  he  saw  her  walking  through  the  London  streets.  It 
was  pelting  with  rain,  and  she  looked  cold  and  wet  and 
unhappy.  He  woke  in  the  morning  with  the  dream  still 
haunting  him.  It  was  absurd,  of  course.  The  idea  of  Miss 
Sartoris,  of  Court  Regna,  stalking  through  the  wet  and  muddy 
streets  of  London,  alone  and  unhappy!  But  the  impression 
of  the  dream  clung  to  him,  and,  suddenly,  there  came  upon 
him  a  great  longing  to  see — if  not  Claire  herself — the  place  in 
which  she  lived.  It  grew  until  it  became  irresistible.  He 
could  not  paint.  He  went  out — it  rained — and  tried  to  walk 
the  feeling  off;  but  it  would  not  be  walked  off.  He  could 
still  see  her,  helpless  and  alone  in  the  dreariness  and  ugli- 
ness— and,  yes,  terror — of  the  London  street.  He  tried 
smoking  the  feeling  off — it  is  wonderful  how  easily  chimeras 
can  be  laid  to  rest  by  the  pipe!  But  in  this  instance  the  faith- 
ful tobacco  failed. 

"  After  all,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  undressed, 
"  there's  no  reason  why  I  should  not  go  to  Regna.  I  want  to 
gee  what  they've  done  with  that  wing — I  want —  I  could  take 
the  boat  to  Bristol,  and  just  run  over  there  and  back.  And 
I  can  give  her  these  confounded  papers.  Why  shouldn't  I 
go?  She — she  can't  eat  me;  she  can  only  kill  me  with  a  cold 
glance  from  those  beautiful  eyes  of  hers!"  He  groaned. 
*'  Ah,  well,  it  just  comes  to  this;  I  must  see  her  once  more!" 

When  he  came  down  the  next  morning,  he  was  dressed  for 
the  journey. 

"  I  am  going  away  for  a  few  days'  holiday,"  he  said  to  the 
landlady— "  only  a  few  days." 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

WHEN  Mordaunt  Sapley  slunk  away  from  Claire,  he  went 
on  his  way  to  the  Court  slowly,  with  bent  head  and  writhing 


264  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGffA. 

lips,  the  picture  of  a  whipped  hound;  but  as  he  neared  the 
house  ho  recovered  something  of  his  usual  presence  of  mind. 

If  Claire  had  really  relinquished  all  claim  to  Court  Regna, 
and  was  resolved  to  "  disappear,'*  the  course  was  clear  to 
him.  He  would  have  preferred  to  have  won  her  as  well  as 
Regna,  but  if  she  were  beyond  his  reach — well,  Regna  alone 
would  do.  At  any  rate,  her  absence  made  things  easy  for 
him.  But  how  to  account  for  her  flight? — for  it  would  seem 
nothing  less  thau  flight  to  the  servants  and  the  county. 
Mordaunt's  inherited  shrewdness  came  to  his  aid,  and  before  he 
had  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  great  house  which  his  father 
coveted,  he  had  concocted  an  explanation  of  Claire's  sudden 
departure. 

"  I  have  just  met  Miss  Sartoris,"  he  said  to  the  butler. 
"  She  has  heard  bad  news.  A  relative — a  near  relative — is 
bad,  very  ill,  indeed,  in  Italy,  and  she  has  gone  to  nurse  her." 

"  Indeed,  sir.  Miss  Sartoris's  maid  said  that  she  had  gone 
quite  sudden,  and  seemed  upset  like." 

"  Yes/'  said  Mordaunt.  "  Miss  Sartoris  is  very  much 
attached  to — to  her  relative.  I'm  afraid  Miss  Sartoris  will  not 
be  back  for  some  time — months,  perhaps.  You  will  let  things 
go  on  as  usual,  please.  Miss  Sartoris  said  something  about 
letting  the  house — furnished — but  we  shall  know  later  on. 
Meanwhile,  please  say  nothing  about  it." 

"  Certainly  not,  Mr.  Mordaunt,"  said  the  butler;  and,  as 
Mordaunt  knew,  immediately  retailed  the  whole  conversation 
in  the  servants'  hall,  from  whence  it  spread,  with  telegraphic 
dispatch,  round  the  neighborhood. 

Mordaunt  went  home  to  his  father.  He  found  the  old  man 
sitting  close  over  the  fire,  glowering  and  muttering  to  him- 
self. 

"  She  has  gone,  as  I  expected,"  said  Mordaunt,  pulling  off 
his  gloves. 

The  old  man  turned  his  head  and  showed  his  fangs. 

"  Gone?  D — n  her,  let  her  go!  It's  the  best  thing  she 
could  do,  if  she  wouldn't  take  you." 

"  She  would  never  have  *  taken  me,'  as  you  put  it." 

"  Then  let  her  *go!"  exclaimed  old  Sapley,  with  an  oath. 
"  She  was  only  there  on  sufferance — my  sufferance!  Let  her 
go  as  she  came!  It  leaves  the  coast  clear.  We'll  move  into 
the  Court  at  once,  eh,  Mordy?" 

Mordaunt  knit  his  brows.  "  Not  at  once,"  he  said- 
"  Notice  of  foreclosure  must  be  served  on  her." 

"  I  served  it  months  ago,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  chuckle, 


THE  MISTRESS  OJ1  COURT  REGtfA.  355 

"  I  handed  it  to  her  amongst  other  papers;  but  I'll  bet  a  Lan- 
dred  pounds  she  never  read  it." 

"  I  dare  say.  But,  still,  we  must  not  be  precipitate.  We 
must  not  set  the  whole  county  against  us.  If  we  go  there — " 

"  IfJ"  exclaimed  old  Sapley,  fiercely.  "  There  is  no  '  if 
about  it!  I  say  we  shall!  I've  set  my  heart  upon  it!  Court 
Regna  is  mine — yours — ours — and  we'll  live  there!" 

'*  Very  well;  don't  excite  yourself/'  said  Mordaunt.  "  We 
will  go  there,  but  only  as  tenants,  stewards  in  charge." 

The  old  man  growled. 

"No;  as  owners— rightful  owners!  D— n  it,  doesn't  ft 
belong  to  me?" 

"  We  will  go  there  presently,  at  Miss  Sartoris's  request," 
said  Mordaunt.  "  Leave  it  to  me.  The  first  thing  we  have 
to  do  is  to  find  her.  I  am  going  up  to  London  by  the  morn- 
ing train,  and  I'll  track  her.  It  will  be  well  to  know  where 
she  is." 

The  old  man  swore  again. 

"  I  don't  care  where  she  is!"  he  said,  with  a  grim  chuckle. 
"  We've  done  with  her;  Court  Regna  is  mine,  Mordy — mine 
and  yours." 

Mordaunt  took  the  morning  train  for  London;  but  though 
he  made  diligent  inquiries,  he  failed  to  trace  Claire.  Her 
simple  plan  of  getting  out  at  Clapham  Junction — that  railway 
labyrinth — balked  him,  and  though  he  spent  two  days  in 
hard  searching  in  the  great  metropolis,  he  failed  to  get  any 
clew. 

He  came  back  to  find  his  father  triumphant  and  stiff-necked 
in  his  resolve  to  take  possession  of  the  Court,  and  Mordaunt 
had  to  yield  against  his  wiser  judgment.  He  gave  out  that 
Claire  had  decided  upon  wintering  abroad,  and  that  she  had 
desired  Mr.  Sapley  to  occupy  the  house. 

The  county  wondered  and  marveled.  Why  should  Miss 
Sartoris  so  suddenly  abandon  Court  Regna?  Why  should  she 
so  suddenly  resign  the  place  in  which  she  had  just  commenced, 
so  to  speak,  to  reign?  Lord  Chester  drove  over  and  had  an 
interview  with  Mordaunt — an  interview  in  which  Mordaunt 
scored  all  along  the  line. 

It  was  Miss  Sartoris's  wish  that  he  and  his  father  should 
occupy  the  house.  What  had  Lord  Chester  to  say  against  it? 
Lord  Chester  asked  Miss  Sartoris's  address.  Mr.  Mordaunt, 
alas!  could  not  furnish  it.  Any  communication  Lord  Chester 
might  send  would  be  forwarded  to  Miss  Sartoris. 

A  nine-days'  wonder  is  reduced  in  these  electric  times  to 
two  or  three  at  the  utmost,  «nd  the  county  soon  grev 


256  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

tomed  to  Mr.  Sapley's  occupancy  of  the  Court.  And,  indeed, 
Mordaunt  played  his  cards  with  a  skill  which  few  would  have 
deemed  him  capable  of.  He  subscribed  liberally  to  every 
charity  and  social  fund  in  the  locality.  He  threw  open  the 
Court  grounds — and  they  were  famous  for  their  extent  and 
]  beauty — to  all  and  every  comer,  and  he  made  himself  popular 
'  with  the  small  farmer  and  landowner  all  round  the  country- 
side. 

Lord  Wraybrough,  amongst  others,  was  puzzled. 

"  I  can't  understand  it!"  he  said,  for  the  hundredth  time. 
"  The  girl  has  disappeared  as  if  she  were  spirited  away,  and 
those  confounded  Sapleys  reign  in  her  stead!  There  has  never 
been  anything  like  it  in  the  history  of  the  county.  It  is  inex- 
plicable! And  yet,  1 — I  can't  say  that  the  change  hurts  us — 
excepting  in  the  absence  of  a  charming  girl.  Mr.  Mordaunt 
Sapley  keeps  things  going.  He  is  liberal  to  a  fault,  and — 
and —  But,  dash  it,  if  I  can  understand  it!'* 

Mordaunt  ivas  liberal  to  a  fault.  He  understood  the  power 
of  money,  and  he  lavished  it  with  a  free  hand.  His  father 
often  groaned  in  spirit  over  the  expenditure,  but  he  did  not 
dare  to  complain.  He  seemed  to  have  surrendered  his  old, 
strong  will  to  his  son.  At  times  he  looked  at  Mordaunt 
thoughtfully,  as  he  had  looked  at  him  on  the  night  he,  the 
father,  had  asserted  his  power  over  Court  Kegna;  but  Mor- 
daunt always  appeared  so  confidant,  so  self-assured,  that  the 
old  man  had  relaxed  that  peculiar  questioning  expression.  He 
seemed  content  to  wander  about  the  Court  with  his  head 
lowered,  his  arms  folded  behind  him,  muttering  to  himself, 
and  chuckling  now  and  again. 

Some  of  the  servants  gave  notice — they  did  not  care  to  serve 
under  the  Sapleys — but  their  places  were  soon  tilled.  The  old 
butler  found  it  hard  to  have  to  serve  "  Old  Sapley  and  his  son, 
Mr.  Mordaunt!"  as  he  had  served  Lord  Wharton  and  Miss 
Sartoris;  but  he  got  used  to  it  in  time.  The  place  and  the 
perquisites  were  worth  having. 

Gradually,  week  by  week,  month  by  month,  the  Sapleys 
clipped  into  Claire's  place.  Mordaunt  spent  money  right 
royally.  There  was  no  stint.  The  county  began  to  recognize 
them — money  will  do  anything  nowadays.  It  is  the  one  all- 
powerful  factor  in  society.  There  was  a  vacancy  on  the 
bench,  and  Mordaunt — not  his  father — was  offered  it.  He 
accepted  it  with  becoming  modesty,  and  became  a  J.  P. 

About  this  time  Captain  Hawker  died.  He  had  been  ailing 
ior  some  months,  and  his  death  caused  no  surprise.  There 
was  almost  a  public  funeral,  and  Mordaunt  attended  it, 


THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGtfA.  253 

appropriately  clad  in  black  and  mourning  garb.  The  old  cap- 
tain's death  awakened  memories  of  his  and  Lucy's  wrongs, 
and  for  some  weeks  there  was  a  great  deal  of  talk  in  the  Eegna 
Arms;  but  it  was  soon  forgotten.  But  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley's 
kindness  in  following  the  old  man's  corpse  to  the  grave  was 
remembered  vividly  enough,  and  counted  in  his  favor. 

At  this  time  there  was  no  man  in  the  county  more  popular 
than  Mordaunt  Sapley;  and  at  this  time  the  member  for  the 
county  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil.  Mordaunt  was  formally 
asked  to  stand.  He  talked  the  matter  over  with  his  father. 
The  old  man  welcomed  the  idea  eagerly.  "Why  not, 
Mordy?"  he  said,  his  eyebrows  working  up  and  down,  his 
small  eyes  lighting  up.  "  Yes,  stand,  my  boy,  and  you'll  get 
in!  It  will  cost  money/'  he  groaned,  and  tried  to  hide  the 
groan  in  a  cough;  "  but  we  can  spend  it  as  well  as  the  other 
side.  A  member  of  Parliament  isn't  as  much  as  he  used  to 
be,  but  he's  something.  He's  looked  up  to  in  the  county, 
and  there's  pickings  in  London  to  be  got  out  of  it;  you'll  get 
a  seat  on  the  boards  of  some  of  the  new  companies,  and  that's 
worth  having.  Yes,  stand,  Mordy!" 

Mordaunt  told  the  deputation  which  waited  upon  him  that 
he  would  become  their  candidate,  if  they  could  not  get  a 
better  man.  He  spoke  modestly,  and  with  a  pleasant  friendli- 
ness, and  gave  the  deputation  a  capital  lunch.  In  a  few  days 
the  hoardings  in  Thraxton  and  all  the  available  spaces  in 
Regna  were  blazing  with  his  address,  and  adjurations  of  "  Vote 
for  Sapley!"  And  old  Sapley  walked  about  the  place  and 
stopped  and  stared  at  the  bills  with  a  senile  chuckle  of  satis- 
faction and  triumph. 

Mordaunt  addressed  a  meeting,  a  crowded  meeting,  of  the 
electors,  and  spoke  very  well;  spoke  so  well  that  he  surprised 
Lord  Chester,  who,,' perforce,  took  the  chair,  and  delighted 
the  sharp  parliamentary  agent  from  London.  Only  once  did 
Mordaunt  falter  and  lose  the  thread  of  his  discourse,  and  that 
was  at  the  moment  when  Jenks,  the  coastguard,  pushed  his 
way  into  the  room  through  the  crowd  at  the  door.  Not  satis- 
fied with  finding  standing-room,  Jenks  shouldered  and  pushed 
until  he  got  close  up  to  the  platform,  and,  leaning  against  the 
wall,  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  Mordaunt  with  a  glassy, 
expressionless  stare,  which  any  young  speaker  would  have 
found  trying. 

The  man  was  an  eyesore  to  Mordaunt,  and  he  sometimes 

felt  inclined  to  use  what  influence  he  possessed,  and  get  Jenka 

moved  to  another  station;  but  he  took  no  step^s  to  effect  his 

removal.     After  the  meeting,  men  prominent  in  the  district 

I 


258  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT   REGKA., 

crowded  round  him  with,  if  not  frienclly,  cordial  attentions, 
and  assured  him  of  their  support,  and  Mordaunt  drove  home 
with  that  peculiar  hot  feeling  about  the  eyes  which  elation 
causes. 

He  found  his  father  sitting  over  the  fire  in  the  library  of  the 
Court — it  was  the  smallest  of  the  living-rooms,  and  the  only 
one  in  which  the  old  man  was  at  all  comfortable — if  he  could 
be  said  to  be  comfortable  in  any — and  he  greeted  Mordaunt 
with  an  eager  exclamation. 

"It  is  all  right,"  said  Mordaunt,  quickly,  but  with  a  tone 
of  satisfaction  in  his  voice  and  a  gleam  of  triumph  in  his 
eyes.  "  A  very  good  meeting,  and  a  unanimous  vote  of  con- 
fidence Everybody  was  very  friendly;  and  even  Lord  Ches- 
ter said  polite  things.  They  seem  to  think  that  I  shall  get 
in." 

The  old  man  nodded  and  chuckled,  and  rubbed  his  hands 
together,  his  cavernous  eyes  gleaming  in  a  more  pronounced 
way  than  Mordaunt' s. 

"  Eight,  Mordy,  right!  Yes,  we'll  show  'em  that  we  are  as 
good  as  they  are  when  brains  come  in!  I'm  sorry  I  wasn't 
there,  Mordy.  I  should  have  liked  to  hear  you  speak." 

Mordaunt's  ardor  cooled  down.  He  had  persuaded  his 
father  to  remain  at  home. 

"  It  is  as  well  you  were  not,"  he  said.  "  There  was  a  great 
deal  of  excitement,  and  you  are  not  strong  enough  for  that 
kind  of  thing." 

"  !No,  no,"  said  old  Sapley,  moodily.  "  I  don't  know 
what's  come  to  me  lately.  I've  got  nervous,  and — and — fear- 
ful about  things.  And  I'm  here  at  Court  Regna,  too!  At 
Court  Regna!"  He  looked  round  gloatingly,  and  rubbed  his 
hands.  "  At  the  Court,  Mordy,  me,  the  agent  and  steward! 
Think  of  it!  And  my  son,  Mordaunt,  going  to  be  member 
for  the  county  division.  Ah,  I  ought  to  be  satisfied!"  He 
drew  a  long  breath,  and  grinned;  but  even  while  his  mouth 
was  twisted  into  a  smile,  his  eyes,  fixed  on  Mordaunt,  grew 
anxious  and  fearful.  It  was  not  the  first  time  Mordaunt  had 
seen  this  peculiar  expression  in  his  father's  face;  indeed,  he 
had  become  used  to  it,  and  ceased  to  ask  what  it  meant;  but 
it  always  annoyed  him,  just  as  Jenks'  stolid  stare  annoyed 
him. 

After  the  night  of  the  meeting,  Mordaunt's  canvass  com- 
menced in  real  earnest,  and  he  was  seen  in  public  as  often  as 
possible.  He  did  not  venture  upon  a  dinner  at  the  Court — 
the  absence  of  a  lady  seemed  a  sufficient  excuse — but  he  asked 
people  to.  lunch,  and  the  butler  was  instructed  to  be  liberal 


THE  MISTEESS  OF  COUST  REGN"A,  259 

with  the  ale  whenever  a  Kegna  voter  entered  the  servants' 
hall.  The  game  had  been  very  much  neglected  during  Lord 
Wharton's  time  and  Claire's  short  reign,  and  Mordaunt,  who 
knew  the  value  of  good  preserves  to  a  candidate,  set  to  work 
to  improve  matters.  He  got  a  good  keeper,  and  gave  him 
carte  blanche,  and  let  it  be  known  that  the  poaching  would 
Aave  to  cease.  A  few  days  after  the  first  election  meeting  his 
keeper  came  to  him  and  said  that  the  poaching  was  very  bad, 
and  that  one  man  was  continually  at  it.  He  had  managed  to 
elude  capture,  and  even  recognition,  up  to  the  present,  but 
the  keeper  was  sure  he  could  catch  him  if  Mr.  Mordaunt  would 
give  him  an  extra  hand.  Mordaunt  employed  an  extra  hand, 
and  a  few  days  later  the  keeper  brought  the  mysterious 
poacher  into  the  library. 

Mordaunt  was  jotting  down  the  notes  of  a  speech,  and 
looked  up  impatiently,  to  see— Jenks,  the  coastguard! 

"  What  is  it?    Who  is  this?"  he  demanded,  almost  angrily. 

The  keeper  explained.  This  was  the  fellow  who  had  given 
him  so  much  trouble,  and  had  hitherto  managed  to  escape; 
but  he,  the  keeper,  had  contrived  a  little  trap,  and  the  scoun- 
drel had  fallen  into  it,  and  been  caught  red-handed.  The 
keeper  was  grimly  triumphant;  but,  strange  to  say,  the 
prisoner  did  not  seem  much  cast  down,  or,  indeed,  hardly 
disconcerted,  as  he  stood  with  his  hands  thrust  into  his 
pockets — from  one  of  which  a  snare  at  that  moment  pro- 
jected— and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  wall  just  above  Mordaunt'a 
head,  with  a  stolid  stare. 

Mordaunt  eyed  him  angrily. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  poaching  on  my  preserves,  Jenks?" 
he  demanded. 

The  man  lowered  his  eyes  and  looked  Mordauut  squarely  in 
the  face,  but  said  nothing. 

"  He's  been  at  it  night  after  night,  sir!"  said  the  keeper. 
"  I  found  two  pheasants  lying  beside  him  when  I  nabbed 
him." 

Jeriks  said  nothing,  but  his  eyes  met — with  an  expression- 
less stare — Mord aunt's  angry  gaze,  changing  slowly  to  one  of 
ordinary  annoyance  and  vexation. 

"  Leave  him  to  me  for  a  moment,  keeper,"  he  said,  much 
to  the  worthy  man's  astonishment. 

When  the  door  had  closed  upon  the  keeper,  Mordaunt 
addressed  Jenks. 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  poaching  on  the  pre- 
serves, Jenks?"  he  said,  irritably.  "  You  know  that— that  I 
am  getting  up  the  game,  that  I  have  shooting-parties,  and 


260  THE  MISTBESS  OF  COUBT 

want  some  birds  for  my  guests — I  don't  care  so  much  for  my- 
gelf — and — why  the  devil  can't  you  leave  them  alone?" 

A  slow,  stolid  kind  of  smile — too  stolid  and  slow  to  be  called 
triumphant — stole  over  Jenks'  face;  but  he  said  nothing. 

"  You'll  get  into  trouble  if  you  don't  take  care,"  resumed 
Mordaunt.  "  You  can't  expect  me  to  let  you  off  again,  if 
you're  caught.  Keep  put  of  the  preserves,  my  good  fellow,  or 
you'll  find  yourself  in  jail." 

"I  ain't  afraid,  Mr.  Mordaunt,"  said  Jenks.  "A  man 
must  get  the  price  of  a  pint  somehow  or  other." 

Mordaunt  shut  his  teeth  sharply.  What  was  there  about 
the  man,  or  his  manner,  that  always  reminded  him — of — of 
Lucy  and  that  narrow  slip  of  sand  below  the  west  cliff? 

"  Confound  you!"  he  said,  passionately.  "  You  talk  like 
an  idiot!  I  believe  you  are  a  little  mad.  Here,  take  that, 
and  leave  my  game  alone  for  the  future."  And  he  actually 
flung  the  man  a  sovereign.  "  Here,  go  out  this  way  " — he 
opened  the  casement  window — "  and  keep  out  of  the  keeper's 
way  for  the  future,  or — "  He  paused,  for  Jenks  turned  and 
looked  at  him  waitingly;  then,  as  Mordaunt  did  not  finish  the 
sentence,  he  went  out.  Mordaunt  sunk  into  his  chair  and 
looked  before  him  vacantly  for  a  moment;  then  he  called  the 
keeper  in. 

The  man  is  an  old  coastguard  sm  an,  and  begged  hard  to 
be  let  off,  and  I  have  let  him  go  on  the  understanding  that  he 
keeps  away  from  the  preserves,"  he  said.  "If  he  breaks  his 
word,  we  will  prosecute." 

The  keeper  stared  in  amazement.  "  I  thought  you  wanted 
the  game  kept  up,  sir,"  he  said,  as  he  departed,  disgusted  and 
disappointed. 

Mordaunt  sat  looking  before  him  for  some  minutes  after  the 
keeper  had  left  the  room. 

Why  had  he  not  prosecuted  Jenks?  Why  had  he  given  him 
money  instead  of  sending  him  to  jail? 

As  he  asked  himself  the  question,  with  a  fierce  kind  of 
impatience,  Lucy's  face  rose  before  him,  and  he  heard  her 
voice  praying  for  mercy  and  pity,  and  his  own  face  went 
white. 

"  Curse  the  fellow!"  he  muttered.  "  The  sight  of  him 
always — always  makes  a  fool  of  me.  And  yet  there's  no 
reason — " 

He  took  up  his  pen  again,  but  he  could  not  go  on  with  his 
notes — his  ideas  were  all  scattered — and  he  flung  the  pen  into 
the  stand  and  went  out  into  the  hall  and  took  his  hat  from  the 
stand. 


THE  MISTBESS  OP  COURT  REG1TA.  261 

He  had  got  almost  as  far  as  the  door,  when  the  bell  rang. 
The  porter  opened  the  door,  and  some  one  said: 

"  Is  Miss  Sartoris  at  home?" 

Mordaunt's  heart  seemed  to  stop  short  at  the  sound  of  the 
voice,  the  question  itself.  For  the  voice  was  Gerald  Wayre's! 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

"  Is  Miss  Sartoris  at  home?" 

The  simple,  commonplace  question  sent  the  blood  rushing 
back  to  Mordaunt  Sapley's  heart  like  a  cold  flood.  He  stood 
staring  stupidly  at  the  door  like  a  man  paralyzed. 

"  Miss  Sartoris  is  not  here,  sir,"  said  the  servant,  one  of 

the  new  ones  who  did  not  know  Gerald,  "  but  Mr.  Sapley " 

and  he  looked  toward  Mordaunt  and  made  way  for  Gerald  to 
enter. 

Gerald  crossed  the  threshold  and  saw  Mordaunt,  and  the 
two  men  stood  and  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment.  Mor- 
daunt was  pale,  but  he  forced  a  smile,  a  sickly  smile. 

"  Mr.  Way  re!"  he  said. 

"  Good -morning,"  said  Gerald,  too  moved  at  finding  him- 
self once  more  inside  the  Court  to  notice  Mordaunt's  agitation; 
"  I  wish  to  see  Miss  Sartoris — "  he  began;  then  something  in 
Mordaunt's  manner  struck  him.  "  You  are  surprised  to  see 
me,  Mr.  Sapley?'* 

"  Ye-s,"  said  Mordaunt,  fighting  hard  for  calmness,  and 
trying  to  hit  upon  his  course  of  action.  What  should  he  do? 
He  had  known  that  the  man  might  turn  up  some  time  or 
other,  but  he  had  hoped  against  hope.  Chance  had  hitherto 
favored  him  so  completely.  Gerald  might  have  died! 

"  Yes,  I  must  confess  that  I  am.  I  thought  that  you  had 
left  this  part  of  the  country  for  good,  Mr.  Wayre." 

"  So  I  had,"  said  Gerald,  "  but  1  have  suddenly  discovered 
that  I  had  something  belonging  to  Miss  Sartoris,  and  I 
thought  " — he  hesitated — "  that  I  would  bring  it  to  her." 

Mordaunt  shifted,  so  that  the  light  was  off  his  face,  and  on 
Gerald's.  He  saw  that  Gerald  looked  well— grave,  but 
well — and  as  handsome  as  ever.  The  time  that  had  elapsed 
since  their  last  meeting,  the  time  and  all  that  it  had  con- 
tained, had  caused  lines  in  Mordaunt's  face,  and  hardened  it, 
but  Gerald  seemed  unchanged,  but  for  the  air  of  gravity. 

"  Miss  Sartoris  is  not  here,"  said  Mordaunt,  regaining  his 
composure.  "  She  is  not  in  England." 

"  Not  in  England?"  repeated  Gerald,  his  face  flushing  and 
then  growing  pale.  He  knew  at  that  moment  how  ardently 


268  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA. 

he  had  looked  forward  to  seeing  her,  just  seeing  her  and  hear- 
ing her  voice. 

"  No/'  said  Mordaunt,  looking  down  at  the  tesselated  floor, 
as  if  he  saw  its  pattern  for  the  first  time.  "  She  went  abroad 
to  join  a  relative  who  was  ill;  and  to  nurse  her,  as  well." 

Gerald  was  silent  a  moment,  then  he  said:  "  Can  you  give 
me  her  address?" 

"  I  can  not,"  said  Mordaunt,  with  the  promptness  of  per- 
fect truth.  "  She  is  traveling  about  in  the  south  of  Europe, 
I  believe." 

Gerald  looked  round. 

"  She  will  return  soon,  perhaps?"  he  said,  interrogatively. 
"  I  see  the  Court  is  not  closed." 

"  No,"  said  Mordaunt;  he  paused  a  moment.  "  My  father 
and  I  are  living  here."  If  he  did  not  tell  Gerald  he  would 
learn  it  from  some  one  else. 

Gerald  looked  surprised. 

"  You  are  living  here?"  he  said;  then  he  added,  quickly: 
"  I  beg  your  pardon!  It  is  no  business  of  mine.  Then  Miss 
Sartoris's  return  is  uncertain  ?" 

"Quite,"  said  Mordaunt.  ''When  did  you  come  back, 
Mr.  Wayre?" 

"  Just  now;  only  an  hour  ago,"  said  Gerald. 

"  Do  you  intend  to  stay  long?"  Mordaunt  could  not 
refrain  from  asking. 

Gerald  shook  his  head. 

"  No— I  don't  know,"  he  said,  hesitatingly.  "  No."  He 
looked  round  the  hall.  Not  a  thing  was  altered;  it  seemed  as 
if  he  had  not  been  absent  for  longer  than  a  few  days — hours! 

Mordaunt's  heart  began  to  beat  more  freely.  Perhaps  the 
fellow  would  go  away  again — go  before  he  learned  that  he  was 
suspected  to  having  taken  Lucy  Hawker  away! 

"  If  you  will  leave  me  your  address,  I  will  send  you  notice 
of  Miss  Sartoris's  return,"  he  said.  **  But  won't  you  come 
in,  and — and  have  some  refreshment?" 

Gerald  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  thanks,"  he  said,  still  abstractedly.  "  I  am  staying 
at — "  he  paused.  "  But  it  is  no  use  my  giving  you  my 
present  address;  I  may  be  leaving  there  shortly — any  time." 

"  If  you  would  like  to  leave  anything  in  my  charge  for  Miss 
Sartoris,  I  will  see  that  she  has  it,"  exclaimed  Mordaunt. 

Gerald  took  the  envelope  from  his  pocket.  "  There  are 
some  papers  I  found  in  the  old  bureau,  in  the  west  wing — I 
Inn't  know  whether  you  remember  it?  I  put  them  in  my 


1HE  MISTR3SS   OF  COURT 

pocket^  and — of  course — they  have  remained  there  until  I 
came  upon  them  by  chance  the  other  day." 

"  I  remember  the  bureau/'  said  Mordaunt.  "  I  don't  sup- 
pose they  are  of  any  consequence.  What  are  they?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Gerald.  "  I  have  not  unfolded 
them."  He  held  put  the  envelope,  and  Mordaunt  stretched 
out  his  hand  for  it.  Even  as  his  fingers  touched  it,  Gerald 
drew  it  back. 

"  After  all,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "  I  think  I  will  give  it 
to  Miss  Sartoris  myself.  I  wish  to  speak  to  her,  and — and  ifc 
will  serve  as  an  excuse,"  he  laughed  apologetically. 

Mordaunt  nodded. 

"  As  you  please,"  he  said.  "  Are  you — are  you  going  to 
the  village,  to  stay?"  he  said. 

Gerald  nodded. 

"  Yes/'  he  said.  "  I  should  like  to  see  the  old  place  again. 
Though  it  seems  that  it,  or,  rather,  the  people,  have  forgotten 
me  already,"  and  he  laughed  rather  grimly. 

Mordaunt's  heart  began  to  sink  again.  "  How  do  you 
mean?"  he  asked,  with  simulated  carelessness. 

"  Oh,  only  that  one  or  two  persons — one  of  the  fishermen 
and  an  old  woman  and  a  girl — passed  me  and  stared  without 
speaking,  as  if  I  were  my  own  or  somebody  else's  ghost." 

The  color  ebbed  in  Mordauot's  cheek.  "  I  don't  under- 
stand," he  said,  steadily.  "  Oh,  I  dare  say  they  weren't  sure 
of  you.  It  is  some  time  since  you  were  here — " 

"  A  few  months,"  put  in  Gerald. 

"  Is  it  not  longer?"  said  Mordaunt,  with  genuine  surprise. 
It  seemed  years,  awful  years,  to  him. 

"  No,"  said  Gerald;  "  and  country  folk,  at  any  rate,  should 
have  longer  memories." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  they  were  surprised  to  see  you  under  the 
circumstances,"  said  Mordaunt. 

Gerald  was  inclined  to  ask,  "Under  what  circum- 
stances?" but  he  did  not.  "  I  will  go  down  and  look  at  the 
village,"  he  said,  moving  toward  the  door,  "  and  I  will  send 
you  my  address,  Mr.  Sapley."  At  the  door  he  paused* 
"  Nothing  more  has  been  done  to  the  west  wing,  I  suppose?-' 
he  asked. 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Mordaunt. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  it,  if  I  may?" 

"  Certainly,"  rejoined  Mordaunt.  Gerald  wished  him 
"  good-morning,"  and  went  out,  and  Mordaunt  turned  back 
to  the  library,  and  sinking  into  a  chair,  stared  before  him, 
breathing  hard  like  a  man  who  ha?  been  running  at  the  top 


264  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGHA. 

of  hia  speed.     With  Gerald's  return,  the  past — the  murder  of 

Lucy,  the  strip  of  sand  in  which  she  lay  buried,  his  frenzied 

walk  into  Thraxton — came  rushing  back  upon  him.     What 

should  he  do?    Here  he  was  in  Court  Regna — as  good  as 

owner — a  candidate  for  the  county  seat,  a  rising  man,  already 

.  respected  and  looked  up  to;  the  man  who  intended  to  be  the 

;  first  man  in  the  county;  and  this  terrible,  squalid,  miserable 

danger  menacing  him! 

Gerald  walked  along  the  terrace.  As  he  passed  the  win- 
dows of  one  of  the  smaller  rooms  he  saw  old  Sapley  crouching 
over  the  fire.  The  sight  of  the  bent,  plebeian  figure  sent  a 
kind  of  shock  through  Gerald.  Old  Sapley  and  his  son  Mor- 
daunt  here  at  the  Court;  and  Claire,  the  mistress,  no  one 
knew  where!  What  did  it,  what  could  it  mean?  The  place 
looked  threatening,  ominous,  as  if  some  tragedy  had  taken 
place  within  its  walls;  a  sense — too  vague  to  be  a  suspicion — 
of  something  wrong,  something  evil,  smote  him.  He  reached 
the  end  of  the  terrace  and  looked  at  the  half -demolished  wing. 
It  had  been  "  cleared  up,"  and  made  as  tidy  as  possible,  but 
its  unfinished,  neglected  appearance  increased  the  impression 
the  presence  of  the  Sapleys  nad  created.  As  he  stood  looking 
at  the  spot  from  which  he  had  dragged  Claire  out  of  reach  of 
the  falling  wall — and  recalling  her  face,  her  voice,  her  sudden 
agitation  and  meekness  under  his  stern  reproof  of  her  reck- 
lessness, a  young  girl  came  up  to  him. 

He  remembered  her  in  a  moment;  it  was  the  little  maid 
who  waited  upon  Mrs.  Burdon.  He  raised  his  hat  and  smiled 
at  her  rather  sadly.  "  How  do  you  do?"  He  had  forgotten 
her  name,  if  he  had  ever  heard  it.  "  And  how  is  Mrs.  Bur- 
don?" 

The  girl  dropped  a  courtesy,  and  looked  up  at  him  shyly, 
and  with  a  smile. 

"  She's  very  weak  and  ailing,  if  you  please,  sir,"  she  said. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,"  said  Gerald. 

"  She's — she's  often  asked  after  you,  sir,1"  said  the  girl, 
*  after  a  moment's  hesitation. 

"  For  me?" 

"  Yes,  if  you  please,  sir;  she  has  wanted  to  see  you  many  a 
time;  wanted  to  had. " 

"  To  see  me?  Well!"  said  Gerald.  "  I'll  come  and  see 
her,  if  you  think  she  is  well  enough. " 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir!"  said  the  girl,  with  evident  satisfaction, 
"  She  mayn't  know  you — that  is,  she  may  take  you  for — " 

Gerald  smiled.  "  I  remember,"  he  said.  "  Does  she  still 
mistake  me  lor  a  lord?" 


THE  MISTBESS  OF  COUET  REG1U.  365 

The  girl  did  not  reply,  but  looked  down  and  smiled  shyly  as 
he  walked  beside  her.  Nurse  Burdon  lay  in  her  neat  little 
bedroom  behind  the  sitting-room,  and  the  maid  led  Gerald  in. 
At  first  he  thought  she  was  asleep,  and  he  looked  down  with  a 
strong  man's  pity  and  reverence  at  the  face  which  was  like  a 
mask,  a  white  mask  of  wrinkles,  some  thick,  some  thin  as 
cobwebs;  but  slowly  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  after  looking  at 
him  a  full  minute,  said,  with  singular  distinctness,  though  in 
a  voice  as  low  as  a  sigh: 

'  You  have  come,  my  lord!" 

"  Yes,  I  have  come  to  see  you,"  said  Gerald.  "  I  hope  you 
are — going  on  all  right?" 

"  Yes,  I'm  going  on— fast,  now,  my  lord,"  she  said,  with  a 
smile  of  contentment.  "  I  sha'n't  be  very  long.  How  is  her 
ladyship?  You  haven't  brought  her?" 

"  I  haven't  brought  her,"  assented  Gerald. 

"  Ah,  it's  a  rough  passage  in  whiter!"  she  said.  "  Though 
she  was  a  fairly  good  sailor,  bless  her  heart.  How  sweet  she 
looked  that  day!  She  was  a  beautiful  bride,  my  lord." 

Gerald  listened  intently,  and  even  eagerly.  He  knew,  now 
that  he  had  heard  the  captain  of  the  "  Susan's "  story, 
whither  her  mind  was  wandering.  There  had  been  a  mar- 
riage, then! 

'  You  were  at  the  wedding,  of  course,  nurse?"  he  said. 

She  smiled  up  at  him. 

,  "  Have  you  forgotten  that  I  was,  my  lord?"  she  said. 
"Ah,  my  memory's  good,  for  all  my  years  and  my  failing 
health;  and  I  can  see  her  now,  and  you,  too!  God  bless 
her!"  Then,  suddenly,  as  the  girl  moved,  she  beckoned 
Gerald  and  looked  round  cautiously.  "  I've  said  nothing — 
nothing  all  these  years,  my  lord !  Your  lordship  could  trust 
me — me,  Nurse  Burdon!  I  can  hold  my  tongue,  as  you  told 
me,  until  you  bring  her  home.  But  you  did  " — she  looked 
troubled  and  perplexed — "you  did  bring  her  home,  didn't 
you,  my  lord?  I  saw  her  at  the  Court;  I  saw  her  with  you 
outside  the  garden  there.  Surely  I  didn't  dream  it!" 

Gerald  hadn't  the  heart  to  undeceive  her;  and  he  took  her 
hand  and  pressed  it.  She  tried  to  return  the  pressure. 

"  Ah,  my  lord,  she's  a  loving  wife,  if  ever  there  was  one, 
and  you  are  a  happy  man — a  happy  man!" 
i  Her  eyes  closed,  and  her  wasted  hand  slipped  from  his. 
Gerald  thought  she  had  fallen  asleep,  but  suddenly  she  opened 
her  eyes  again  and  looked  at  him,  and,  to  his  surprise,  with' 
lut  any  sign  of  recognition. 

"  Who  is  this?"  she  asked,  turning  her  head  to  the  maid* 


266  .  THE  MISTIIESS  OF  COURT  EEGlfA* " 

"  It*  s  the  gentleman — Mr.  Wayre,  nurse.*' 

The  sharp  look  came  into  the  mask. 

"  Wayre!  Wayre!"  she  repeated.  "  What  do  you  know- 
how  dare  you  mention  that  name?  1  don't  know  this  gentle- 
man! I — "  Her  voice  faltered  into  silence,  and  her  eyes 
closed  again. 

Gerald  stroked  her  hand,  but  she  appeared  unconscious  of 
his  touch,  and  he  left  her. 

"  Take  care  of  her,"  he  said  to  the  maid.  "  But  it  isn't 
necessary  to  ask  you  to  do  that,  I  know,"  he  added,  quickly. 
He  was  about  to  give  her  some  money,  but  it  seemed  an 
insult  to  the  child's  devotion,  and  he  let  the  coin  slip  into  his 
pocket  again,  and  went  on  his  way. 

As  he  passed  through  the  gate  and  was  striding  along  the 
road,  a  man  came  round  the  corner,  stopped  dead  short  at 
sight  of  Gerald,  and  uttered  an  exclamation.  It  was  Lee. 

"  Halloo,  Lee!"  said  Gerald,  holding  out  his  hand.  "  I'm 
glad  I've  met  you  so  soon!  How  are  you?" 

Lee  took  his  hand  without  hesitation,  but  looked  confused 
and  embarrassed;  but  only  for  a  moment. 

"  When  did  you  come  back,  sir?"  he  asked. 

"  An  hour  or  two  ago.  I've  been  to  look  at  the  wing.  It 
wasn't  my  fault — at  least,  I  suppose  it  was!"  he  added, 
rapidly,  under  his  breath.  "  I'm  sorry,  for  your  sake, 
Lee.  You  would  have  made  a  good  job  of  it,  I  know.  But 
perhaps  Miss  Sartoris  may  finish  it  some  day.  I'm  going 
down  to  Regna." 

Lee  stared  at  him,  seemed  about  to  speak,  then  said : 

"  I'll  go  with  you,  sir." 

"  Do!"  said  Gerald,  heartily.  He  had  always  liked  the 
man,  and  was  glad  to  see  him,  though  his  presence  awakened 
cruel  memories  of  the  happy  times  gone  by.  "  How  are  all 
our  friends,  the  Hawkers?  I  suppose  they  can  give  me  my 
old  room  if  I  stay  a  night  or  two?" 

Lee  glanced  at  him. 

*'  Captain  Hawker  is  dead!"  he  said,  quietly. 

"Dead!"  Gerald  stopped  short.  "Dead,  did  you  say? 
Oh,  poor  old  fellow!  And  how  is  Miss  Lucy?" 

Lee  stared  at  him,  and  then  straight  before  him,  and  mut- 
tered: 

"  I  knew  it!    I  knew  it!" 
'•'  What  do  you  say?"  asked  Gerald. 
"  Nothing,  nothing,  sir,"  said  Lee. 
T/bey  walked  on,  Gerald  inquiring  for  some  of  the  other 


THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGtfA.'  267 

folks,  and  Lee  answering  almost  in  monosyllables.     Gerald 
thought  him  very  taciturn. 

Now  and  again  they  passed  some  persons  on  the  road,  and 
Gerald  nodded  and  smiled,  but,  though  some  nodded,  they  all 
stared. 

"  Singular  folk!"  he  said.  "  I  suppose  they  are  surprised 
'  to  see  me,  as  Mr.  Mordaunt  said." 

"  Yes,  they  are  surprised,"  said  Lee,  grimly. 

They  went  down  the  narrow  street  of  steps  and  turned  on  to 
the  little  terrace  in  front  of  the  Hawkers'.  It  was  closed. 

Gerald  stared  at  it. 

"  Why— it's  shut  up!"  he  said.  "  Poor  old  Hawker! 
And  Lucy's  gone,  I  suppose?  I  am  sorry,  sorry!" 

Lee  looked  hard  at  the  house  without  speaking,  Gerald 
absently  tried  the  handle  of  the  door.  It  was  unlocked,  and 
opened  to  him,  and  he  went  in.  Lee  followed  him,  and  they 
looked  round. 

"  Well,  this  is  the  saddest  thing!"  said  Gerald.  "  Tell  me 
all  about  it,  Lee.  What  did  he  die  of?  He  seemed  so  hale 
and  hearty — too  fat,  perhaps,  poor  fellow!  but  a  long  way  out 
of  Death's  reach. " 

"  He  died  of  a  broken  heart,  sir,"  said  Lee. 

Gerald  turned  quickly. 

"  A  broken  heart?"  he  repeated,  shocked  and  amazed. 
"  What  about?  Was  it  money?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Lee.     "  It  was — Lucy." 

"  Lucy!"  exclaimed  Gerald.  "  Why,  what — what  hap- 
pened to  her?" 

As  he  spoke,  a  peculiar  murmur  came  through  the  half- 
open  door — a  murmur  made  by  several  voices  speaking  at 
once,  and  with  suppressed  excitement.  Both  men  turned, 
and  Gerald  walked  to  the  door.  As  he  did  so,  a  cry,  a  low, 
threatening  cry,  arose  from  a  small  group  collected  outside. 

"  There  he  is!    Yes,  it's  him!    He's  come  back!" 

Then,  before  Gerald  could  speak,  a  young  fisherman  thrust 
himself  forward,  and  with  glowering  eyes,  exclaimed,  fiercely: 

"  Where  is  she?    Where  is  Lucy?" 

"  Where  is — Lucy?"  echoed  Gerald  in  stony  astonishment. 
"  Where  is—"  He  turned  to  Lee.  "  What  does  he— what 
do  they — mean?" 

"  None  o'  that!"  exclaimed  the  young  fellow— he  had  been 
one  of  Lucy's  lovers — "  you  know  what  we  mean  well  enough! 
Where  is  she?     You've  come  back,  but  we  want  her,  or  we 
to  know  what's  become  of  her!" 
Ay,  that's  it!"  cried  the  others  in  a  threatening  chorus. 


268  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGHA. 

Gerald  stepped  outside.  He  was  still  too  amazed  to  bt 
angry. 

"  One  of  you — not  all  together,  please,  tell  me  what  you 
mean,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"  You  know  what  we  mean,  d— n  you  for  a  cowardly 
hypocrite!"  snarled  the  young  man.  "You  took  her  away; 
'  'ticed  her  away,  and  broke  her  father's  heart,  and  now  you 
pretend —  Oh,  let  me  get  at  him!  He's  played  her  false,  or 
he  wouldn't  stand  there  lying  about  it!  Let  me  get  at  him, 
I  tell  ye!" 

They  held  him  back,  but  Gerald  had  not  flinched. 

"  You  are  speaking  of  Lucy — Captain  Hawker's  daughter?" 
he  said.  "  And  you  accuse  me  of — what  is  it? — taking  her 
away?  Be  quiet,  please,"  for  the  murmur  of  indignation  had 
risen  again.  "  Hear  me  out.  You  accuse  me  of  this — this 
dastardly  act?  Well,  you  are  wrong!  I  am  innocent!" 

A  snarl  of  incredulity  arose. 

"  I  repeat,  I  am  innocent!  Lee,"  he  turned  to  Lee,  who 
had  drawn  close  to  his  elbow,  "  what  does  this  mean?  For 
God's  sake,  explain!" 

'*  It  means  that  we  know  your  wickedness!"  shouted  a 
woman.  "  You  come  here  like  a  snake  in  the  grass,  with 
your  fine  gentleman  ways,  and  ruin  a  poor  girl  that  never  did 
you  any  harm;  ay,  and  killed  her  father!  You're  a  murderer 
as  well  as  an  entrapper  o'  innocent  girls,  that's  what  you  be!" 

"  Yes,  and  by  Heaven!  I'll  punish  you!"  cried  the  fisher- 
man; and  he  broke  loose  and  sprung  upon  Gerald. 

Gerald  set  his  feet  firmly,  and  caught  the  blow  upon  his  left 
guard,  then  he  seized  the  young  fellow,  and,  with  a  dexterous 
movement,  swung  him  round  and  pinned  him  against  the  wall. 

"  Now,  stop  there!"  he  said,  sternly.  "  You  talk  of  pun- 
ishing me;  well,  you  should  do  it — all  of  you,  if  you  liked — if 
I  were  guilty  of  this  thing.  But  I  am  not!  I  am  innocent. 
Stand  quietly!  I  don't  want  to  strike  you,  God  knows;  and 
I  will  not  do  it,  if — if  I  can  keep  my  blood  down!  I  want  to 
know  the  truth,  the  whole  of  this  thing  you  lay  at  my  door. 
Speak,  some  one!"  He  looked  round.  Dark  and  threaten- 
ing looks  faced  him  at  all  points — at  all,  excepting  that  at 
which  stood  Jenks,  who  leaned  against  one  of  the  bulkheads 
on  the  terrace,  smoking,  as  usual.  "  Lee,  you  tell  me,  and — 
and  be  quick!" 

Lee  laid  his  hand  on  the  pinioned  man. 

"  Let  him  go,  sir.  William,  you  stay  quiet  till — till  I've 
spoken!"  The  young  fellow  shook  himself  free,  and  stood 
glowering  and  breathing  hard. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGffA.  269 

"  Yes,  sir;  Miss  Lucy  was  taken  away;  she  ran  away  from 
home,  and — and  nothing  more's  been  heard  of  her.  It's  true 
what  they  say;  it  broke  her  father's  heart." 

Gerald  looked  round. 

"  This  " — he  could  not  go  on  for  a  moment,  and  the  spec- 
tators viewed  his  hesitation  with  increased  suspicion,  or, 
rather,  conviction — "this  is  terrible!  Poor  Lucy!  Poor 
girl!  But,"  his  eyes  flashing,  "  why  do  you  dare  accuse  me 
of  being  her  betrayer?  Great  Heaven!  I  would  rather  have 
died  than  injured  her  as  you  think!  Why  have  you  fixed  upon 
me?" 

His  gaze — it  was  blazing  with  indignation — flashed  round 
the  group.  They  were  staggered  for  a  moment  by  the 
vehemence  of  his  denial,  but  only  for  a  moment. 

"We  all  know!"  said  a  woman.  "You  were  seen  with 
her  times  out  o'  number!" 

"  Seen  with  her — talking — walking  with  her?  Yes!  Why 
not?"  exclaimed  Gerald. 

"And  alone!"  persisted  the  voice. 

"  Alone?  Yes,  scores  of  times,  for  all  I  remember!"  said 
Gerald,  with  fiery  scorn.  "  And  do  you  think  that  because 
I  stopped  to  speak  to  the  poor  girl — the  daughter  of  the 
house  in  which  I  lived — that  I  was  planning  her  ruin? 
Shame!  Yes,  shame!  Black  must  be  the  heart  that  can 
think  such  evil!" 

"  She  fled  the  night  you  left — left  without  a  word,  stole 
away  like  a  thief — a  thief,  as  you  are,  curse  you!"  broke  in 
William.  "  The  same  night!  You  went  together;  you  stole 
her  from  us — yes,  from  us  all!  If  she  didn't  go  with  you, 
who  did  she  go  with?" 

Gerald  stood  at  bay,  his  face  white  with  his  emotion. 

"  The  same  night?"  he  repeated,  dully. 

"  Yes!"  repeated  the  woman.  "  You  were  seen  walking 
with  her  the  night  before— right  away  up  at  the  Court,  plan- 
ning it  all,  I'll  be  bound!— and  the  next  night  you  both  go. 
William's  right!  If  she  didn't  go  with  you,  who  did  she  go 
with?" 

5>  Gerald  swept  his  hand,  with  fierce  impatience,  across  his 
forehead. 

"  Give  me  time." 

"  To  hatch  more  lies,  d— n  you!"  snarled  William. 

"  The  same  night!"  said  Gerald,  almost  to  himself,  as  if  he 
were  trying  to  recall  it.  He  began  to  see  what  good  cause  for 
their  suspicions  these  poor  people  had.  "  Let  me  think. 
Yes!  I  see!  1  left  without  a  word— there  was  no  one  about— « 


370  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGffA. 

I — "  He  turned  to  Lee.  "  Lee,  they  were  right  to  suspect 
me.  It  all  looks  black,  black  as  hell,  against  me!  Wait' 
I've  admitted  that;  but  I  tell  you  again  that  I  am  innocent!' 

The  cro'>vd,  thicker  now,  growled  ominously. 

"  Come  away — inside  the  house,  sir!"  said  Lee  in  a  low 
voice.  He  knew  how  reckless,  how  fierce  these  simple,  quiet 
fisher  folk  could  be  when  they  were  roused.  There  is  Spanish 
bloo/1  in  the  veins  of  the  Regna  people,  and  it  shows  if  self  now 
and  again.  "  Come  inside,  sir." 

"No!"  said  Gerald,  aloud.  "I  am  not  afraid!  I  say  I 
am  innocent!  Until  this  moment  I  did  not  know  that  Lucy 
had  gone,  that  her  father  was  dead.  Do  you  believe  me?" 

They  looked  at  him  and  each  other. 

"  I  have  been  out  of  England — in  Ireland — have  seen  no 
paper,  heard  no  news." 

"  Tell  us  why  you  went  so  sudden?" 

The  question  came  from  the  quick  brain  of  the  woman. 

The  crimson  rose  for  an  instant  to  Gerald's  face,  then  faded, 
and  left  it  white  again. 

"I  can  not." 

"  Ah!"  came  like  a  deep  breath  from  the  accusers. 

"  It  is  no  business  of  yours — no,  I  will  not  say  that.  It  is 
private  to  me;  it  concerns  me  alone." 

"  And  Lucy?"  said  the  woman. 

"  No,  that  I  will  swear!"  said  Gerald,  with  quiet  intensity. 
"  It  has  nothing  to  do  with  her!  I  saw  her  for  the  last  time 
on  the  preceding  night,  and  not  since.  I  left  the  place 
because — Lee  knows.  Speak,  Lee!  I  sailed  in  the  *  Susan/ 
that  lay  at  the  quay." 

A  derisive  laugh  interrupted  him. 

*'  He  makes  believe  he's  a  sailor  now!"  said  William. 
"  He  knows  the  '  Susan  '  went  on  a  long  voyage.  You  liar!" 
He  took  a  step  nearer,  the  crowd  closed  round;  two  of  the 
men  began  handling  knives  with  which  they  had  been  cleaning 
fish.  Lee  stripped  off  his  coat  like  lightning,  and  stood  in  a 
line  with  Gerald. 

"  Stand  back!"  he  said,  firmly.  "  He  speaks  the  truth;  I 
know  it!" 

"  He  lies!"  roared  the  crowd,  now  hot  with  the  lust  for 
vengeance.  "  Where's  the  girl?  He's  deserted  her,  killed 
her,  most  like!" 

They  closed  in,  and  one  man  struck  Gerald;  Gerald  guarded 
the  blow,  but  only  partially,  and  it  knocked  him  against  the 
door  jamb.  He  raised  his  fist  to  strike  back — he  was  not  good 
at  taking  blows,  even  under  euch  strenuous  circumstances  as 


THE  MISTKESS  OF  COURT  REGXA.  271 

these — when  a  horseman  rode  straight  into  the  group  and 
scattered  it. 

It  was  Mordaunt  Sapley.  He  was  white  to  the  lips— and 
must  have  been  half  mad  with  apprehension  and  excitement 
to  ride  down  the  steep  street — and  could  scarcely  speak  for  a 
moment. 

"  Stand  back!"  he  said,  hoarsely.  "What  does  this  mean? 
Stand  back;  give  way!  I'm  a  magistrate,  and  I'll —  Stand 
back!" 

The  crowd  fell  back,  but  grudgingly,  and  with  low  growl- 
ing, like  that  of  a  wild  beast  balked  of  its  prey. 

"  He's  come  back  without  her!"  said  the  woman.  "  He 
won't  own  to  it;  he's  left  her — to  starve,  likely  enough.  Ride 
on,  Mr.  Mordaunt,  and  leave  'un  to  we!  We're,  some  of  us, 
Lucy's  kinsfolk,  and  we  have  a  right  to  punish  'un!" 

"  No,  no!"  said  Mordaunt,  his  shifty  eye  glancing  from 
one  to  the  other.  Suddenly  they  fell  upon  Jenks,  who  had 
now  seated  himself  on  the  bulkhead,  and  was  still  smoking, 
as  if  he  had  no  part  nor  lot  in  the  business  on  hand.  At 
sight  of  him  Mordaunt  felt  a  peculiar  shiver  run  through  him. 

"  Mr.  Wayre,"  he  said,  with  an  attempt  at  pomposity, 
"  what  have  you  to  say?" 

Gerald  broke  in  sternly,  fiercely — the  blow  had  roused  his 
blood.  "  That  I  am  innocent!  I  know  nothing  of  the  girl's 
fate,  nothing,  nothing!  I  can  prove  that  I  left  the  place 
alone —  But  no  matter,  for  the  present,  about  my  innocence. 
I  am  accused  of  a  dastardly  crime,  such  as  only  a  coward,  a 
beast  unworthy  the  name  of  man,  could  perpetrate.  Let  that 
pass!"  His  eyes  flashed.  "  I  care  nothing  for  what  they 
think,  but  I  do  care  for  the  girl,  and  1  will  find  the  man  who 
wronged  Jier!" 

There  was  something  in  his  voice  and  manner  that  almost 
awed  the  crowd.  It  was  as  if  Justice,  personified  in  this 
strong  man,  with  the  white,  working  face,  had  descended  from 
the  heavens  to  promise  them  vengeance. 

"  You  say  you  saw  me  walking  and  talking  with  her.  Yes; 
I  liked,  I  respected  Lucy  Hawker!  I  pitied_her,  also;  for 
— now  I  remember — she  was  in  trouble  that  night  I  last  saw 
her.  1  advised  her  to  confide  in  her  father.  That's  all  the 
clew  I  have;  but,  because  I  lived  under  the  same  roof,  because 
she  was  a  helpless,  cruelly  wronged  woman,  I  will  not  rest  until 
1  have  found  her!  W'hy — why  have  not  some  of  you,  who 
stand  here  so  ready  with  your  hands— and  knives— not  done 
as  much?" 

They  looked  at  one  another  and  then  back  at  hinu 


273  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGffA. 

"  We  did,"  said  one.  "  Leastways,  Mr.  Mordaunt  did  He 
tracked  'ee — Lucy  and  'ee — to  the  junction — " 

Gerald  turned  swiftly  on  Mordaunt,  who  winced  and  shrunk, 
then  put  a  bold  face  on  it. 

"  I — I  tried — they  said  that  some  one — a  gentleman — was 
seen — Lucy — a  bundle — "  he  said,  disjoiutedly. 

Gerald  looked  at  him  fiercely  and  keenly. 

"  And  you  at  once  concluded  that  I  was  the  villain!  Thank 
you,  Mr.  Sapley!  And  yet  I  have  something  to  thank  you 
for,  for  you  can  give  me  a  clew.  Now  " — he  turned  to  the 
crowd —  I  remain  with  you — here — on  this  spot,  hi  this 
house!  Do  you  think  I  could  do  that  if  I  were  guilty  of  her 
father's  death?  Here  I  stay!  And  who  shall  say  me  nay?" 

"  Well,  if  he  isn't  innocent,  he — he's  a  masterpiece!"  swore 
one  of  the  older  men. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE  crowd  drew  away  after  a  time,  and  left  Gerald  and 
Mordaunt  standing  alone. 

"  I  presume  I  have  your  permission  to  remain,  Mr. 
Sapley?"  said  Gerald.  He  was  still  white,  and  his  nostrils 
were  quivering,  but  Mordaunt  was  whiter  still,  and  seemed 
unable  to  lift  his  eyes  from  the  ground.  He  stood  nicking  his 
legs  with  his  riding-whip. 

"  Certainly!"  he  replied.  "  Of  course.  Though  I  must 
say  that  I  think  your  offer  rather — quixotic;  and  I  don't  see 
what  good  you  can  effect  by  remaining  here  and  playing  the 
amateur  detective." 

"  Do  you  still  suspect  me,  Mr.  Sapley?"  asked  Gerald,  his 
eyes  fixed  searchingly  on  Mordaunt's  face. 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Mordaunt.  "  I  am  bound  to  accept 
the  word  of  a  gentleman;  but  you  must  admit  that  the  case 
looks  very  clear  against  you." 

"  I  admit  it,"  said  Gerald,  shortly.  "  It  is  because  the 
evidence  is  so  strong  against  me  that  I  claim  the  right  to  prove 
my  innocence  by  discovering  the  guilty  man." 

"  I  fear  you  will  never  succeed,"  said  Mordaunt,  with  a 
shrug  of  the  shoulders.  "  It  is  so  long  ago,  and  the  girl  left 
no  clew  behind  her/' 

"  You  forget  the  man  who  was  seen  with  her  at  the  station, 
and  the  bundle,"  said  Gerald. 

Mordaunt's  eyelids  twitched.  "  I  should  advise  you  not  to 
attach  too  much  importance  to  that,"  he  said.  "  There  may 
have  been  half  a  dozen  such  couples  at  the  station  that  night." 


THE  MISTEESS  OP  COUKT  REGtfA.  2?3 

"  Then  1*11  find  every  one  of  the  half  dozen,"  said  Gerald. 
"  The  man  who  lured  her  away  must  have  been  here  before, 
must  have  been  seen  with  her." 

Mordaunt  shrugged  his  shoulders  again.  "  Some  com- 
mercial traveler,  or  captain  of  a  vessel,"  he  said,  "  who  has 
disappeared  as  mysteriously  as  he  came.  And,  perhaps,  after 
all,  Mr.  Wayre,  we  may  be  doing  him  an  injustice;  he  may 
have  married  the  girl." 

"If  he  has  not,"  said  Gerald,  "  I'll  make  him— if  she  is 
still  alive." 

Mordaunt  with  difficulty  repressed  a  start  of  fear.  "  Alive?" 
he  echoed,  with  a  short  laugh.  "  Why  should  she  not  be? 
Don't  make  the  tragedy  blacker  than  it  is!" 

"  It  is  black  enough  for  me  already,"  said  Gerald.  "  But 
I  am  thinking  more  of  Lucy  than  myself — of  the  poor  girl 
and  her  broken-hearted  father." 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  every  success,"  said  Mordaunt.  "  I 
need  scarcely  say  that  I  have  done  all  1  could  to  trace  her. 
Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you  to  make  you  comfortable 
here?" 

"  Nothing,  thanks,"  said  Gerald.  "  I  shall  be  glad  if  you 
will  send  Miss  Sartoris's  address,  when  you  know  it,"  he 
added,  as  Mordaunt  turned  away.  And  Mordaunt  looked  over 
his  shoulder,  and  replied: 

"  Certainly;  immediately  I  learn  it." 

Gerald  went  into  the  house,  and  after  a  moment  or  two  Lee 
followed  him,  and,  without  a  word,  commenced  lighting  the 
fire. 

"  You  don't  think  me  guilty,  Lee?"  said  Gerald,  as  he 
opened  the  window. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Lee.     "  Not  from  the  first." 

"  Who  did  it?"  asked  Gerald. 

Lee  shook  his  head,  and  stolidly  piled  on  the  coal,  and  then, 
while  Gerald  paced  up  and  down,  Lee  tidied  the  room,  and 
made  it  somewhat  comfortable. 

"  You're  a  true  friend,  Lee,"  said  Gerald,  holding  out  his 
hand.  "  I  shall  never  forget  the  way  you've  stood  by  me." 

Lee  colored  with  pleasure.  "  A  chap  wouldn't  be  worth 
much,  sir,  if  h«  wouldn't  stand  by  a  man  when  he  saw  him 
wronged." 

"  Come  upstairs  with  me,"  said  Gerald.  "  I  want  to  see  if 
I  can  find  any  clew." 

They  went  upstairs  and  found  things  in  strange  order,  just 
as  they  had  been  left  after  Captain  Hawker's  death.  Gerald 


274  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGtfA. 

•went  into  Lucy's  room,  and  looked  round,  with  sad  reverence^ 
a  grim  foreboding  smote  him  at  sight  of  the  narrow  bed. 

"  The  whole  place  has  been  searched  for  some  clew,  sir," 
said  Lee,  "  and  nothing  was  found." 

They  went  into  Gerald's  old  room,  and  the  sight  of  the 
things  lying  about,  of  the  drawings  and  plans,  awakened  the 
keen  memory  of  the  few  happy  days — all  too  happy — he  had 
spent  at  Court  Kegna. 

"  I  shall  sleep  here,"  he  said;  "  I  feel  as  if  the  truth  would 
reveal  itself,  if  ever  it  does,  in  this  house." 

They  went  down-stairs  again  and  discussed  the  problem,  and 
Gerald  explained  his  long  absence. 

"  If  you  had  only  sent  me  your  address,  sir,"  said  Lee, 
regretfully. 

Gerald  winced  and  colored.  "  After  I  had  received  notice 
of  the  discontinuance  of  the  work,  my  connection  with  Court 
Regna  had  ceased,  Lee,"  he  said,  "  and  I  wished  to  forget  it." 

Lee  wanted  to  stay  and  cook  for  him,  and  share  in  his 
quest;  but  Gerald  would  not  permit  him,  and  after  a  time, 
Lee  left  him  alone.  Gerald  lighted  a  pipe,  and  sat  down 
beside  the  fire  to  think.  He  had  undertaken  to  find  Lucy's 
betrayer.  How  was  he  to  begin?  His  mind  traveled  back  to 
every  occasion  on  which  he  had  seen  her,  and,  during  the 
course  of  this  retrospect,  he  remembered  the  evening  he  had 
been  sitting  on  the  quay,  and  seen  her  go  round  the  rock  with 
a  young  fellow  whom  he  had  failed  to  recognize.  He  remem- 
bered that  he  had  thought  the  man  bore  some  resemblance  to 
Mordaunt  Sapley.  But  this  vague  resemblance  did  not  help 
Gerald  much.  Even  if  it  had  led  him  to  suspect  Mordaunt, 
the  suspicion  would  not  have  remained  in  his  mind;  for  Mor- 
daunt had  evidently  not  left  the  place,  was  here  still.  Besides, 
Mordaunt  Sapley  was  too  ambitious  a  man  to  imperil  the 
prospects  of  his  career  by  an  intrigue  with  a  girl  so  much 
below  his  own  station.  The  man  must  either  have  been  a 
stranger,  or  one  of  the  young  men  in  the  place. 

He  went  down  to  the  quay  and  made  inquiries  as  to  who 
had  left  Regna  at  the  time  of  Lucy's  disappearance.  He 
found  a  group  collected  there,  talking  eagerly  and  excitedly; 
and  at  first  they  received  him  with  coldness  and  covert  sus- 
picion, but  his  utter  fearlessness  and  his  evident  sincerity  soon 
told  upon  them,  and  they  answered  his  questions  eagerly. 
No  one  whom  they  could  possibly  suspect — save  himself — had 
left  Regna  at  the  time.  Everybody  had  been  on  the  alert;  it 
would  have  been  impossible  for  one  of  the  young  men  to  havf 
disappeared  without  being  suspected. 


THE  MISTEESS  OF  COURT  BECHTA.  274 

Gerald — he  did  not  declare  his  innocence  again  —left  them , 
and  returned  to  the  cottage.  As  he  entered,  a  thought  struck 
him,  and  made  him  stop  short,  as  if  he  had  been  shot.  If  all 
Regna  had  thought  him  guilty,  so  also  must  Claire  have  done! 
The  thought  sent  the  blood  surging  through  his  heart.  Here, 
then,  was  the  explanation  of  her  refusal,  of  her  coldness,  of 
'  his  dismissal!  He  was  so  overwhelmed  by  the  reflection,  by 
the  feverish  desire  to  find  her  that  very  instant  and  declare  his 
innocence  that  he  did  not  remember  for  a  minute  or  two  that 
her  refusal  of  him  had  been  given  hours  before  Lucy's  disap- 
pearance. 

The  remembrance  brought  him  relief,  but  still  left  the  mys- 
tery of  her  coldness  as  complete  as  that  of  Lucy's  fate.  It 
•was  only  natural  that  his  thoughts  should  flow  toward  Claire; 
he  had  almost  forgotten  her  in  the  excitement  of  the  last  few 
hours;  but  now,  her  disappearance  began  to  loom  upon  him 
almost  as  heavily  as  that  of  Lucy.  Where  had  she  gone? 
Why  had  she  left  no  address?  And  why  were  the  Sapleys 
installed  at  Court  Regna? 

He  spent  a  greater  part  of  the  night  futilely  asking  these 
and  similar  questions — he  might  as  well  have  asked  them  of 
the  Sphinx. 

Early  the  next  morning  he  went  down  to  the  station  and 
commenced  his  inquiries.  He  was  met  by  a  kind  of  civil  im- 
patience. No  one  knew  anything.  He  went  on  to  the  junc- 
tion, and  interviewed  every  official;  but  he  could  get  no 
information,  and  he  could  not  discover  the  man  who  had  told 
Mordaunt  of  the  young  man  and  woman  with  the  bundle. 
Everybody  declared  that  he  had  not  seen  such  a  couple,  or  that 
if  he  had  he  had  forgotten  them. 

This  struck  Gerald  as  strange. 

He  returned  to  Thraxton.  As  he  was  walking  from  tho 
station  he  met  Lord  Chester.  His  lordship  was  riding  along 
slowly,  with  his  head  bent  and  an  abstracted  look  on  his  face. 
Gerald  thought  that  he  had  aged  very  much.  He  and'  Lord 
Chester  had  exchanged  a  few  words  in  the  old  days,  and  some 
impulse  prompted  Gerald  to  stop  and  raise  his  hat.  Lord 
Chester  regarded  him  absently  for  a  moment  as  he  returned 
the  salute,  then  said: 

"  Mr.  Wayre,  I  believe?  Good-morning,  Mr.  VYayre;  J 
have  not  seen  you  for  some  time." 

"  No,  my  lord,"  said  Gerald;  "  I  have  been  away.^  During 
my  absence  sad  changes  have  taken  place  in  Regna. 

Lord  Chester  colored  slightly. 

"  You  allude  to  Miss  Sartoris's  abgence,  Mr. 


2?6  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGtfA. 

"  That  was  not  in  my  thought  for  the  moment,  my  lord," 
said  Gerald.  "  I  was  referring  to  the  disappearance  of  Cap- 
tain  Hawker's  daughter." 

Lord  Chester  looked  at  him  steadfastly,  and  with  a  certain 
coldness,  which  brought  the  color  to  Gerald's  face. 

"  I  should  like  to  say,  my  lord/'  he  said,  "  that  I  am  inno- 
cent of  any  wrong  that  may  have  been  done.  I  can  scarcely 
ask  you  to  believe  this,  but  I  am  waiting  for  the  return  of  the 
vessel  in  which  I  left  Regna  on  the  day  of  the  girl's  flight,  to 
make  my  innocence  clear.  Until  then  I  must  be  content  to 
remain  under  the  shadow  of  suspicion." 

Lord  Chester  looked  steadily  at  him,  then  held  out  his 
hand. 

"  Mr.  Wayre,  I  can  not  but  believe  you,"  he  said. 

Gerald  swallowed  a  lump  in  his  throat  as  he  took  the  white 
hand. 

"  I  ventured  to  stop  you,  my  lord,  to  ask  you  a  question," 
he  said.  "  Can  you  tell  me  Miss  Sartoris's  address?" 

The  color  rose  to  Lord  Chester's  face  again. 

"  I  regret  that  I  can  not,"  he  said.  "  I  have  tried  to  dis- 
cover it.  Miss  Sartoris  left  the  Court  quite  suddenly,  without 
bidding  farewell  to  any  of  her  friends.  She  has  not  written 
to  any  of  us.  I  can  claim  no  right  to  her  confidence,  beyond 
that  which  belongs  to  " — he  hesitated  a  moment,  then,  still 
meeting  Gerald's  grave  regard,  said,  with  quiet  dignity — "  a 
most  sincere  and  abiding  affection." 

Gerald  inclined  his  head  before  this  frank  admission,  and 
the  evident  signs  of  the  speaker's  grief  and  anxiety. 

"  She  has  gone  to  the  south  of  Europe,  in  company  with  a 
relative,"  said  Lord  Chester. 

"  Who  told  you  this?"  asked  Gerald  in  his  curt  way. 

"  The  Sapleys,"  replied  Lord  Chester.  "It  is  generally 
known." 

"  And  the  Sapleys  are  ruling  at  the  Court!"  said  Gerald. 
"  Can  you  explain  that,  Lord  Chester?" 

Lord  Chester's  brows  drew  together.  "  1  can  not!"  he 
said.  "  It  is  a  mystery  to  me.  It  troubles  me.  Why  do  you 
ask  me  these  questions,  Mr.  Wayre?"  he  added. 

Gerald  felt  a  strange  impulse  to  tell  him  the  truth.  "  Be- 
cause I  love  Miss  Sartoris,  Lord  Chester,"  he  said. 

The  blood  flew  to  Lord  Chester's  face,  and  his  hands 
gripped  the  reins  tightly. 

'  5Tou?"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

;<  Yes,  I!"  said  Gerald.  "Do  not  misunderstand  me,  my 
lord.  My  love  is  quite  hopeless;  but  it  is  my  excuse  for  asking 


ITTE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

you  for  tidings  of  her,  for  being  dissatisfied  with  the  explana- 
tion given  by  the  Sapleys." 

Lord  Chester  regarded  him  in  silence  for  a  moment,  then  he 
said:  "  I,  too,  am  dissatisfied.  But  what  can  I  do;  what  can 
you  do?  We  have  no  right  to  spy  upon  Miss  Sartoris's  move- 
ments. She  is  her  own  mistress,  and  we  have  no  authority  to 
question  her  actions.  We  can  only  wait  until  we  hear  from 
her,  or  she  returns.  God  grant  that  may  be  soon!" 

"  Amen!"  said  Gerald,  almost  fiercely.  "  There  has  been 
foul  play  in  one  direction,  and  all  my  mind  is  blackened  with 
suspicion." 

'  What  do  you  suspect?"  asked  Lord  Chester. 

"  I  do  not  know,  responded  Gerald,  curtly.  "  My  lord, 
you  will  keep  my  secret?" 

Lord  Chester  inclined  his  head,  as  if  it  were  not  necessary 
for  him  to  give  the  assurance  in  words. 

"  Come  to  me,  Mr.  Wayre,  if  you  wish  to  confer  with  me  or 
need  assistance  of  any  kind.  Miss  Sartoris's  well-being  is 
more  to  me  than  life  itself."  He  touched  his  hat  and  rode  on. 

Gerald  strode  along,  deeply  moved,  for  in  telling  his  secret 
he  had  learned  Lord  Chester's.  As  he  neared  the  Court 
lands  he  heard  the  sound  of  firing,  and  presently  saw  a  shoot- 
ing-party in  the  preserves.  They  were  laughing  and  talking, 
and  in  their  midst  was  Mordaunt  Sapley.  He  had  all  the  air 
of  a  host  entertaining  his  guests,  and  it  was  evident  that  he 
was  playing  the  part  as  if  it  were  a  familiar  one.  The  sight 
filled  Gerald  with  amazement  and  bitterness;  it  seemed  an 
incredible  one. 

Why,  only  a  few  months  ago  he  had  flogged  Mordaunt 
Sapley,  not  far  from  this  very  spot,  for  ill-treating  a  dog;  only 
a  few  months  ago  he,  Gerald,  had  walked  beside  Claire  along 
that  path,  and  Mordaunt  Sapley,  if  they  had  met  him,  would 
have  saluted  them  almost  like  a  servant.  Had  all  the  world 
at  Court  Regna  turned  topsy-turvy?  As  he  stood  looking  at 
them,  Mordaunt  came  lus  way  and  saw  him.  He  started 
slightly  and  frowned,  but  recovered  himself  instantly  and 
nodded  pleasantly  at  Gerald.  Gerald  could  scarcely  bring 
himself  to  return  his  salutation,  and  walked  away.  Before  he 
had  gone  many  yards,  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley's  election  address 
stared  him  in  the  face.  Gerald  stopped  and  read  it,  and 
laughed  bitterly. 

Yes,  certainly,  things  had  come  to  a  pretty  pass  at  Court 
Regna!  As  he  reached  the  cottage,  still  fuming  inwardly,  he 
saw  Jenks,  the  coastguard,  sitting  on  a  bulkhead.  He 
touched  his  hat,  and  looked  at  his  pipe  and  then  at  Gerald. 


278  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  IlEGHA. 

"  Could  you  give  me  a  pipe  of— 

Gerald  cut  him  short  by  chucking  him  the  tobacco-pouch. 
Jenks  filled  his  pipe  leisurely,  glancing  at  Gerald  sideways  as 
he  did  it. 

"  Been  makin'  inquiries,  sir?"  he  asked. 

Gerald  nodded  absently  as  he  gazed  out  to  sea. 

"And  ain't  found  anything,  sir,  judging  by  yer  looks?" 
said  Jenks.  "  You  couldn't  hear  o'  that  gent?" 

Gerald  did  not  see  any  reason  for  concealing  his  failure. 
"  No,"  he  said. 

"  Ah!"  said  Jenks,  lighting  his  pipe,  "  if  you  trace  that 
there  bundle  as  Mr.  Mordaunt  heard  of — the  bundle  she  took 
with  her — you'd  find  out  the  truth  soon  enough,  wouldn't 
you?" 

"  Yes,"  assented  Gerald,  moodily. 

"  That  there  bundle's  worth  something,"  remarked  Jenks, 
musingly.  "  I  should  say  it  was  worth  a  power  of  money." 

The  man's  words  struck  Gerald  as  strange,  and  he  looked 
at  him  for  the  first  time  with  some  attention. 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked.  "  Of  course  it  would  be 
a  very  strong  clew.  If  we  could  trace  that,  we  should  trace 
poor  Lucy/' 

"  Ah,  poor  girl!"  said  Jenks.  "  1  wonder  somebody  ain't 
offered  a  reward,"  he  added,  refiectingly.  "  It  'pears  to  me 
that's  the  best  way  of  findin'  things." 

"Beward!"  said  Gerald.  "  I  would  give — "  He  stopped 
and  sighed.  "  I'm  sorry  to  say  I'm  a  poor  man,  Jenks;  but 
if  I. were  rich  I'd  give  a  thousand  pounds  for  anything  that 
would  help  me  to  find  Lucy  Hawker." 

Jenks  puffed  at  his  pipe  thoughtfully.  "  Yes,  it's  worth 
that,"  he  said  in  a  casual  way.  *'  Well,  sir,  I  wish  you  luck 
in  your  search;  not  as  I  think  you'll  have  any,"  he  added  to 
himself,  as  Gerald  went  into  the  cottage. 

Jenks  sat  smoking  his  pipe  on  the  bulkhead  for  half  an  hour 
or  so,  then  he  got  up  and  walked  off  toward  the  cliff.  When 
he  had  reached  the  point  which  overlooked  the  slip  of  sand 
beneath  which  Lucy  lay  sleeping,  he  stopped,  and,  looking 
down,  scratched  his  head  thoughtfully.  "  I  reckon  it's  about 
time,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  He's  a  clever  'un,  is  this  Mr. 
WTayre;  cleverer  than  the  other  devil.  If  1  wait  much  longer 
I  shall  come  in  a  day  after  the  fair." 

He  went  on  his  beat,  but,  when  the  dusk  had  fallen,  he 
turned  from  the  cliffs  and  went  up  the  Court  road.  He 
Walked  quite  openly  until  he  was  quite  close  to  the  house,  then 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGHA.  279 

he  hesitated,  scratched  his  head,  and  turning  away  from  the 
entrance,  went  along  the  terrace.  Lights  had  been  lighted  in 
some  of  the  rooms,  and  a  lamp  was  burning  in  the  library. 
Jeuks  looked  in  at  the  window,  and  saw  Mordaunt  seated  at 
the  table.  He  was  in  evening  dress,  and  a  diamond  shirt  stud 
flashed  into  Jenks'  eyes.  Mr.  Mordaunt  was  neither  reading 
nor  writing,  but  was  sitting  with  his  head  resting  on  his  hands, 
as  if  he  were  very  tired  or  lost  in  thought. 

Jenks  tapped  at  the  window. 

Mordaunt  started,  sat  erect,  and  stared  at  the  darkness  out- 
side. Jenks  tapped  again,  and  Mordaunt  drew  aside  the 
partially  closed  curtains  and  opened  the  window.  As  he  saw 
Jenks,  his  face  went  white,  and  he  drew  back  half  a  step; 
then,  with  an  affectation  of  anger,  he  demanded:  "  What  the 
devil  are  you  doing  here?" 

Jenks  took  off  his  hat  and  stepped  into  the  room. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  with  the  impassive  stolidity 
which  had  always  infuriated  Mordaunt.  "  I  have  stepped  up 
for  a  little  advice," 

Mordaunt  bit  his  lips  as  he  closed  the  window  and  turned 
to  confront  the  man. 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  by  the  front  way?"  he  asked. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir/'  said  Jenks,  with  a  kind  of  wooden 
respect.  "  Thought  this  'ud  be  more  convenient." 

"  Well,  what  is  your  business?"  asked  Mordaunt,  with  all 
the  hauteur  he  could  command. 

"  It's  about  this  Lucy  Hawker  affair,  sir,"  said  Jenks. 

Mordaunt  started,  and,  to  hide  the  start,  sunk  into  his 
chair.  *'  Well?"  he  said,  harshly. 

"  It's  just  this  way,  sir,"  said  Jenks;  "  I've  heerd  as 
there's  going  to  be  a  reward  offered  for  information;  some 
says  as  it'll  be  as  much  as  a  thousand  pounds — at  any  rate, 
it's  worth  that." 

"  Who  is  offering  a  reward?"  asked  Mordaunt. 

"  Well,  I  reckon  it'll  be  Mr.  Wayre.  Oh,  yes,  he's  a  poor 
man,"  he  went  on,  slowly,  as  if  in  answer  to  Mordaunt's 
sneer.  "  But  he  can  get"  money  from  them  as  'ud  like  to 
know  the  truth — Miss  Sartoris  or 'Lord  Chester!" 

"  Well,  supposing  this,"  broke  in  Mordaunt,  "  what  have 
you  to  do  with  the  business?  What  is  it  to  you?" 

"  Only  this,"  said  Jenks,  with  the  same  cast-iron  stolidity> 
"  seein'  that  I  was  on  the  cliff,  and  saw  yon  chuck  her  over, 
and  afterward  watch  you  from  behind  the  rocks,  while  yoa 
buried  her— and  very  neat  you  did  it  too,  air— yer  peef  I'm  i8 


280  THE  MISTBESS  OP  COURT  REGNJL. 

a  fair  way  of  getting  that  thousand  pounds,  ain't  I,  Mr.  Mot 
daunt?"' 
Mordaunt  rose  to  his  feet,  livid  with  amazement  and  terror. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

MORDAUNT  fell  to  trembling  like  a  leaf.  A  feeling  ol 
nausea,  of  actual  physical  sickness,  came  over  him,  and  ha 
stared  at  Jenks  with  distended  eyes,  as  if  he  did  not  see  him; 
indeed,  he  saw  nothing  but  the  dead  body  lying  on  the  sand. 
Then  the  paroxysm  of  terror  gave  place  to  a  frenzy  of  rage,  of 
impotent  rage;  that  he  should  be  in  the  power  of  this  clod, 
this  lump  of  common  clay;  he,  Mordaunt  Sapley,  whose 
cleverness  and  astuteness  were  becoming  a  by-word  in  the 
neighborhood ! 

He  leaned  back  and  wiped  the  cold  sweat  from  his  livid 
face.  He  did  not  attempt  to  deny,  to  bluster;  he  knew  it 
would  be  of  no  use.  The  man  had  seen  him — could  hang 
him.  He  had  to  accept  the  fact  and  make  the  best  of  it. 

Jenks  watched  him  with  the  same  stolid  regard.  There  was 
something  terrible  in  the  cool,  matter-of-fact  way  in  which  the 
man  played  his  part;  he  might  have  been  selling  a  basket  of 
herrings  or  an  old  boat,  so  utterly  impassive  and  almost  unin- 
terested were  his  manner  and  expression;  and  he  waited  for 
Mordaunt  to  speak,  with  the  most  perfect  patience  and  cer- 
tainty of  the  result. 

Mordaunt  spoke  at  last.  The  words  seemed  to  leave  his  lips 
with  difficulty,  and  his  voice  sounded  hoHow  and  weak. 

''  What  is  it  you  want?"  he  asked,  going  direct  to  the  point. 

"  Well,  I  was  thinking  a  thousand  pounds  wouldn't  be  too 
much,  Mr.  Mordaunt,"  said  Jenks. 

"  That  is — ridiculous!"  said  Mordaunt,  thickly.  "  Fifty 
or  a  hundred — " 

Jenks  shook  his  head.  "  'Tain't  near  enough,  Mr.  Mor- 
daunt!" he  said.  "  The  other  party  'ud  give  me  a  thousand. 
I'd  better  wait  and  see,  or  go  to  them;  it  don't  make  no  odds 
to  me  whether  I  gets  it  from  them  or  you.  I've  only  got  to 
take  them  the  bundle  and  show  'em  that  neat  little  grave — " 

"  The  bundle?"  said  Mordaunt. 

Jenks  nodded.  ;<  Yes,  I've  got  that.  I  picked  it  up  where 
she  dropped  it;  funny,  your  forgetting  that  bundle,  Mr. 
Mordaunt,  wasn't  it?"  ' 

"  And  if  I  give  you  this  thousand  pounds,"  said  Mordaimt* 
"  what  will  you  dor" 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  281 

"  I  should  buy  a  little  farm/5  said  Jenks,  "  somewhere  m 
this  neighborhood.*' 

"  And  lose  the  money  and  come  down  upon  me  for  more!" 
said  Mordaunt,  with  something  like  a  snarl.  "  I  think  not! 
Listen  to  me,  Jenks!  You  think  yourself  very  clever;  you 
think  that  you  have  got  me  in  your  power,  and  that  you  can 
bleed  me  to  the  last  penny.  Don't  be  too  sure.  You  are  an 
ignorant  man,  Jenks,  and  know  nothing  of  the  law;  you 
imagine  that  no  harm  can  come  to  you  over  this  affair;  you 
fancy  that  you  have  only  to  carry  your  story  to  the  police, 
take  your  reward — your  blood-money — and  go  in  peace.  You 
are  mistaken.  If  any  trouble  comes  to  me,  you  will  share  it!" 

"  Me,  sir?"  said  Jenks,  with  an  incredulous  smile.  "  How 
can  that  be?  I  didn't  have  no  hand  in  it!" 

"  Ah,"  said  Mordaunt,  "  that's  where  you  are  so  ignorant, 
my  good  Jenks!  Did  you  never  hear  of  an  accessory  after  the 
fact?  I  imagine  not.  And  yet  that  is  what  you  are.  The 
man  who  conceals  his  knowledge  of  a  crime,  and  so  assists  the 
criminal,  is,  in  the  eyes  of  the  law,  only  less  guilty  than  he. 
You  say  that  you  saw  me — that  you  saw  certain  things  on  a 
certain  night,  months  ago;  you  have  concealed  the  knowledge, 
have  suppressed  the  evidence;  you  would  be  tried  as  an 
accessory  after  the  fact  with  the  actual  criminal,  and,  if  he 
were  hung,  you  would  be  sentenced  to  penal  servitude." 

Jenks  looked  quite  unmoved,  but  he  scratched  his  head 
thoughtfully. 

"  Lor'  bless  me!  Is  that  so,  Mr.  Mordaunt?"  he  said. 
"  No  wonder  common  sort  of  folk  like  me  get  into  trouble. 
How  can  they  be  expected  to  know  the  law?  Penal  servitude 
and  all,  for  not  splitting  on  you  right  away  at  first!  Seems 
kind  o'  hard  on  you,  Mr.  Mordaunt,  don't  it?" 

" Hard  or  not,"  said  Mordaunt,  "it  is  the  law.  I  can 
show  it  you  plainly  written  hi  one  of  these  books." 

6<  Don't  you  trouble,  Mr.  Mordaunt,"  said  Jenks.  "  You're 
a  lawyer,  and  ought  to  know;  and  I'll  take  your  word  for  it; 
and,  that  being  so,  the  best  thing  I  can  do  is  to  make  myself 
scarce." 

Mordaunt  drew  a  long  breath.  A  gleam  of  light  streaked 
the  awful  gloom  of  the  prospect. 

"  You're  a  sensible  man,  Jenks,  I  see,"  he  said.  "HI 
give  you  this  thousand  pounds  you  will  have  to  leave  England 
at  once.  You  can  do  better  with  your  money  abroad  than  you 
can  here;  and  I'm  not  afraid  that  you  will  come  back,  Shall 
1  tell  you  why?" 


288  THE  MISTRESS  01?  COURT  REGlSTA. 

"Just  speak  what's  on  yer  mrnd,  Mr.  Mordaunt,*'  said 
Jenks,  cheerfully. 

"  Because  the  moment  I  know  of  your  return,  I  should 
denounce  you."  He  leaned  forward,  his  small  eyes,  very  like 
his  father's  at  this  moment,  fixed  with  malignant  hate  upon 
Jenks'  face.  "  I  should  denounce  you  as  the  murderer!" 

"  Me?"  exclaimed  Jenks,  astonished  for  the  first  time. 

"  Yes,  you!"  said  Mordaunt,  deliberately.  "  You  have 
had  this  bundle  in  your  possession  all  these  months,  you  know 
where — the  body  lies;  that  looks  suspicious!  Why  should  you 
not  have  committed  the  murder?" 

Jenks  laughed.  "  That  sounds  very  clever,  Mr.  Mor- 
daunt,"  he  said.  "  But,  come  to  that,  why  should  I?" 

An  idea  struck  Mordaunt,  an  idea  which  sent  the  blood  to 
his  white  face. 

"  Wait  a  moment,  Jenks,"  he  said,  quivering  with  excite- 
ment. "  How  do  you  know  that  it  was  me  you  saw  on  the 
cliff?  Think!  Think  again!  Wasn't  it  Mr.'Wayre  ?" 

Jenks'  stolid  face  displayed  something  like  admiration. 
"  That  sounds  better,  Mr.  Mordaunt,"  he  said.  "  But  Mr. 
Wayre  says  he  went  aboard  the  l  Susan '  long  before  you 
chucked  her  over  the  cliff." 

Mordaunt  shuddered  at  the  man's  callous  way  of  referring 
to  the  awful  deed. 

"  It  is  only  a  question  of  an  hour  or  two,"  he  said.  "  Put 
the  time  back.  At  any  rate,  you  see,  Jenks,  that  I  am  not  so 
completely  under  your  thumb  as  you  imagined." 

"  Oh,  you're  clever  enough,  Mr.  Mordaunt!"  said  Jenks. 
"  And  I'm  only  an  iggerant  kind  of  man.  Seems  to  me, 
you'd  better  give  me  the  money  and  let  me  sheer  off.  I 
sha'n't  come  back,  trust  me.  A  man  don't  go  bathing  where 
he  knows  sharks  are  swimming.  I  ain't  no  match  for  you, 
Mr.  Mordaunt,  and  I'll  clear  out  of  your  way  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible— to-morrow,  if  you  like." 

Mordaunt  got  up  and  paced  the  room.  His  knees  trembled; 
he  felt  hot  one  moment,  cold  the  next,  and  the  brain  upon 
which  he  was  relying  burned  like  a  coal. 

"  No,  that  would  be  too  sudden,"  he  said.  "  It  would 
attract  notice  and  arouse  suspicion.  You  might  go  in  two  or 
three  days."  He  knit  his  brows  with  a  painful  effort  of 
thought.  "You  could  say  that  a  relative  had  died  out  in 
Australia,  and  that  you  were  going  out  to  look  after  some 
noney  he  had  left  you.  You  could  say  you  were  coming 
back.  1  can  help  you  to  obtain  leave  of  absence  Tell  the 


MISTRESS  OF  COI7P.T  REGWA.  283 

story  of  the  uncle  in  Australia  at  the  inn  to-morrow.  Bring 
me  the  bundle  to-morrow  night." 

Jenks  shook  his  head  placidly.  "  Not  me,  Mr.  Mordaunt," 
he  said.  "  I  ain't  going  to  walk  about  with  that  bundle,  if  I 
know  it;  there's  too  many  eyes  about.  If  you  want  it,  you 
must  come  and  fetch  it,  that's  flat!  I've  got  it  hid  away 
snug  and  comfortable  in  my  hut;  you  bring  me  the  thousand 
pounds  and  you  shall  have  it,  and  I'll  clear  off." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment  or  two,  then  Mordaunt 
raised  his  head,  but  looked  above  Jenks  as  he  said:  "Very 
well.  I  will  think  the  matter  over  and  let  you  know.  You 
shall  have  the  money  on  the  conditions  I  have  named.  You 
can  go  now!" 

"  Good-night,  Mr.  Mordaunt,"  said  Jenks;  and,  as  habit  is 
strong  as  death,  he  added,  in  the  sweet,  old  way:  "  Have  you 
such  a  thing  as  a  pipe  o'  tobacco  about  you,  Mr.  Mordaunt?" 

Mordaunt  stifled  a  curse,  and  taking  some  cigars  from  a  box, 
threw  them  on  the  table.  Jenks  picked  them  up  carefully, 
one  by  one,  and  as  carefully,  one  by  one,  stowed  them  away; 
then,  with  the  same  wooden  and  utterly  stolid  countenance, 
nodded  and  went  out  by  the  window,  as  he  had  come.  He 
lighted  a  cigar  before  he  reached  the  lodge,  and  as  he  smoked, 
he  stared  at  the  ground  thoughtfully. 

"  He's  most  too  clever,  he  is,"  he  said.  "  He's  like  a 
conger  eel;  you  don't  know  whether  you've  got  him,  or  you 
ain't;  slippery's  what  I  should  call  you,  Mr.  Mordaunt.  I'm 
ac — ac — ess'ry  after  the  fack,  am  I?  Well,  I'm  blowed!" 

After  he  had  gone,  Mordaunt  drew  tbe  curtain,  and,  sink- 
ing into  the  chair,  hid  his  face  in  his  hands.  At  such  moments 
as  these,  the  criminal  suffers  more  agony  than  that  which  is 
contained  in  the  brief  minutes  when  the  rope  is  actually  round 
his  neck;  and,  indeed,  Mordaunt  could  almost  fancy  that  he 
felt  the  hangman's  hand  upon  him.  His  nerves  were  strained 
to  their  utmost  tension,  and  when  the  door  suddenly  opened 
he  sprung  up  with  a  sharp  cry,  clutching  the  arms  of  the 
chair.  It  was  old  Sapley  who  had  entered,  and  he  stood 
regarding  Mordaunt's  livid,  terror-stricken  face  with  conster- 
nation and  alarm. 

"  Mordy!  Mordy!"  he  gasped.  !<  What  is  it?  Are  you  ill, 
Mordy?" 

"No,  no!"  said  Mordaunt,  quickly.  ;<  Yes,  yes!  I  am 
not  Well— a  little  faint.  Get  me— get  me  some  brandy!' 

The  old  man  hurried  from  the  room  and  came  back  with  a 
of  brandy  shaking  in  his  hand.  Mordaunt  seized  it  and 


384  THE  MISTKESS  OF  COUKT  REGNA. 

drank  it  off.  His  father  watched  him  with  anxious  eyes  and 
quivering  lips. 

"  What  is  it,  Mordy;  what  is  it?"  he  asked.  What's  hap- 
pened?  Something's  gone  wrong,  I  know!  You  frighten 
me,  Mordy.  And  it  isn't  the  first  time.  You  look  like  you 
did  the  night  you  came  home  late  from  Thraxton.  What  is 
it,  Mordy?  You're  not  hiding  anything  from  me,  are  you? 
Don't  do  it;  don't  do  it,  for  God's  sake!  If  you're  in  trouble, 
I  can  help  you!  I'm  not  in  my  dotage  yet.  Best  confide  in 
me,  Moray!  I'm  the  best  friend  you've  got.  It's  my  brains 
as  has  built  it  all  up.  If  you've  done  anything  rash — men 
will,  when  they're  driven  hard  and  think  they're  going  to  be 
thwarted — confide  in  me." 

"  Confide!"  A  wild  laugh  burst  from  his  tightly  strained 
lips,  an  hysterical  laugh,  which  increased  the  old  man's  terror. 
"  What  do  you  think  I've  done?  Robbed  a  church,  or — or 
what?  You  talk  nonsense!  I'm  ill,  I  tell  you!  I  shall  be 
better  directly.  For  Heaven's  sake,  go,  and  leave  me  alone!" 

The  father  had  grown  so  accustomed  to  obedience  that  he 
left  the  room,  looking  back  over  his  shoulder  with  an  agony 
of  apprehension  in  his  sunken  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

SISTER  AGNES  had  awakened  the  desire  to  live  in  Claire's 
heart,  and  her  recovery  was  rapid  enough  to  please  even  the 
doctor  and  the  sister  herself.  As  she  regained  her  strength, 
she  was  eager  to  get  back  to  her  work  at  the  school;  and  one 
dav,  when  the  sun  was  shining  with  the  warmth  which  called 
up  memories  of  the  departed  summer,  she  coaxed  a  reluctant 
permission  from  the  doctor,  and  went  into  the  school. 

Her  appearance  was  greeted  with  that  murmur  which  takes 
the  place  of  a  cheer  with  'girls;  and  Miss  Gover  was  so  de- 
lighted at  seeing  her  that  she  was  tempted — only  tempted — to 
give  the  girls  a  half-holiday;  but  no  one  was  more  moved 
than  little  Tiny,  who,  disregarding  all  discipline,  ran  into 
Claire's  arms,  and  hugged  her  with  childish  cries  of  love  and 
joy.  For  quite  half  an  hour  the  school  was  disorganized,  but 
presently  Miss  Gover's  sharp  tap  with  the  ruler  was  heard 
above  the  babel  of  voices,  and  the  Goddess  of  Work  resumed 
her  normal  sway. 

Claire  felt  rather  tired  the  first  day,  but  before  the  week 
had  passed  she  had  regained  her  old  strength,  and  entered  into 
her  daily  labor  with  a  zest  which  delighted  Miss  Gover,  and 
brought  its  own  reward  to  Claire.  She  and  Sister  Agnes  now 


THE  MISTEESS  OF  COUKT  EEGlfAo  JJ8& 

shared  the  same  sitting-room,  and,  when  possible,  took  their 
meals  together. 

The  sister  never  alluded  to  the  story  of  her  life  nor  to 
Claire's  troubles,  but  in  a  thousand  little  ways  she  showed  her 
love  for  the  solitary  girl  whom  Providence  had  placed  under 
her  care;  and  Claire  returned  that  love  with  interest. 

At  the  end  of  the  street  in  which  the  school  stood  was  a- 
house  much  larger  than  those  in  the  street;  but  like  many  of 
the  others,  it  was  let  in  apartments.  One  day  when  Claire 
was  returning  to  the  school,  after  dinner,  she  saw  a  fly  stand- 
ing at  the  door  of  Arundel  House.  An  extremely  fair  and 
pretty  girl,  wrapped  in  furs,  was  lying  back  in  the  carriage. 

She  looked  very  delicate  and  very  listless,  and  the  old  gen- 
tleman who  was  with  her  regarded  her,  as  he  helped  her  to 
alight,  with  that  anxious  and  watchful  expression  which  a 
father  wears  when  he  is  tending  his  sick  child.  As  Claire 
passed,  her  eyes  and  the  girl's  met  for  a  moment,  and,  so  to 
speak,  lingered  with  a  mutual  admiration.  The  father  and 
daughter  stood  aside  to  let  Claire  pass,  and  she  went  on  her 
way.  Several  times  during  afternoon  school  she  thought  of 
the  pretty  girl,  and  it  was  only  natural  that,  as  she  went  by 
the  house  on  her  way  home,  she  should  look  up  at  the  win- 
dows. 

The  girl  was  standing  there,  and  evidently  saw  and  remem- 
bered Claire,  for  she  turned  and  said  something  quickly  to 
some  one  in  the  room,  and  the  old  gentleman  appeared  at  the 
window.  The  next  morning,  returning  to  dinner,  Claire  saw 
the  girl  going  out;  they  looked  at  each  other  again,  this  time 
more  attentively,  and  Claire  fancied  that  there  was  a  wistful 
expression  in  the  blue  eyes.  Either  at  the  window  or  in  the 
street  she  saw  her  every  day;  and  at  last  she  asked  Mrs.  Hol- 
land who  they  were.  The  landlady,  of  course,  knew  some- 
thing about  them.  There  is  a  kind  of  freemasonry  amongst 
landladies  which  induces  an  exchange  of  information  about 
their  respective  lodgers. 

"  Their  name  is  Harling,"  said  Mrs.  Holland.  Father 
and  daughter,  miss.  She  do  seem  very  delicate,  don't  she? 
Sweetly  pretty,  too.  Her  father  seems  very  fond  of  her,  and 
Mrs.  Simpkins,  their  landlady,  says  as  she  thinks  that  they're 
vary  well  off." 

That  afternoon  Claire  missed  her  pocket-handkerchief.  As 
she  was  passing  Arundel  House  some  one  tapped  at  the  win- 
dow, and,  looking  up,  she  saw  Miss  Harling  holding  up  a 
handkerchief.  She  disappeared  from  the  window,  and  Claire 
waited.  A  moment  or  two  afterward  the  door  opened,  and 


28(5  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

Miss  Harling  appearecL  She  was  a  little  flushed,  as  if  with 
excitement,  as  she  said,  with  wistful  eagerness: 

"  This  is  your  handkerchief.     I  saw  you  drop  it." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  said  Claire,  smiling;  and  she  held  out 
her  hand,  but  Grace  whipped  the  handkerchief  behind  her 
back. 

"  Do  you  want  it  very  much?"  she  asked 

Claire  stared  at  her,  then  laughed  softly. 

"Because  if  you  do,  perhaps  you  won't  mind  coming 
upstairs  for  it,"  said  Grace.  "  Do  you  mind?" 

"  I  shall  be  very  pleased,"  said  Claire;  and  she  followed  the 
singular  girl  up  to  the  drawing-room  floor. 

"  Won't  you  sit  down?"  said  Grace.  "  You  ought  to  give 
me  in  charge,  for  I  as  good  as  stole  this  handkerchief;  I  saw 
you  drop  it,  and  I  didn't  call  after  you,  and  father  says  that 
is  as  bad  as  stealing,  Miss  Sartoris." 

"  I  don't  think  I  will  give  you  in  charge,"  said  Claire. 
"  You  know  my  name?" 

Grace  nodded,  and  leaned  forward  in  her  chair,  with  a  faint 
smile,  and  the  same  eager,  wistful  air. 

"  Oh,  yes;  I  know  all  abont  you."  Claire  started  slightly. 
"  You  lodge  at  Mrs.  Holland's,  up  the  street,  and  you  teach 
at  the  school.  1  have  seen  you  go  by  every  day,  and  I — I 
have  often  wanted  to  speak  to  you.  Do  you  think  that  rude 
and  forward  of  me?  I'm  afraid  it's  what  you  call '  bad  form ' 
in  England." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  think  it  was  very  kind  of  you,"  said 
Claire.  "  If  it  was  wrong,  I  must  plead  guilty  to  the  same 
feeling,  Miss  Harling." 

"  You  know  my  name?"  said  Grace,  archly. 

Claire  colored  and  laughed. 

"  Curiosity  is  the  failing  of  our  sex,"  she  said. 

"No,  it's  one  of  our  virtues,"  said  Grace  in  her  shrewd 
little  way.  "  I'm  glad  we  know  each  other's  names,  because 
it  does  away  with  the  necessity  of  an  introduction.  I'll  tell 
you  all  the  rest  about  myself,  if  you  like.  I'm  staying  here 
with  my  father;  he  has  a  great  deal  of  business  to  do  with 
lawyers  in  London,  and  I  can't  live  in  London,  because  of  the 
fogs,  so  we've  taken  rooms  here." 

"And  do  you  like  it?"  asked  Claire.  "  Streatham,  I 
mean?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Grace,  listlessly.  "  It's  a  pretty  little 
place  enough;  the  shops  are  rather  nice.  Oh,  yes,  I  like  it!" 
she  sighed,  and  leaned  brak.  "  And  now  won't  you  tell  me 
something  about  yourself?" 


THE  MISTKESS  OF  COUET  REGtfAo  «J8? 

Claiie  winced  for  a  second,  then  she  said;  quietly: 

"  There  is  very  little  I  can  tell  you,  You  know  where  I 
live;  I  teach  at  the  school — and  that  is  all." 

"Forgive  me!"  said  Grace.  "law*  rude  and  inquisitive. 
But  I  didn'f  -*sk  from  idle  curiosity,  but  by  way  of  saying 
that  I  wanted  to  know  you.  I  have  seen  you  so  often  as  you 
passed  by,  that  I  have  felt  as  if  we  were  old  friends.  And,  it 
is  very  strange,  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  you  1  thought  I  must 
have  met  you  before;  there  is  something  in  your  face  that 
awakened  some  recollections;  but,  of  course,  I  know  that  I've 
not  met  you — I  mean,  to  speak  to — until  now." 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Harling  entered  the  room,  and  looked 
from  one  girl  to  the  other  with  natural  surprise.  Grace  rose 
and  took  his  arm  coaxingly. 

"Father, 'this  is  Miss  Sartoris.  I  have  netted  her  at  last; 
it  was  with  a  handkerchief.  I  played  a  mean  trick  upon  her; 
but  I  think  she  will  forgive  me,  for  I've  been  telling  ner  how 
much  I  wanted  to  know  her.  Speak  up  for  me,  father,  and 
tell  her  that  I  am  a  very  lonely,  solitary  girl,  a  stranger  in  the 
land,  and  that  I  am  just  dying  for  one  girl  friend." 

Mr.  Harling  patted  her  hand  and  looked  at  Claire  plead- 
ingly. "  I'm  afraid  this  is  all  very  irregular,  Miss  Sartoris," 
he  said,  "  and  that  you  will  think  us  very  peculiar  folks;  but 
my  girl  here  is— is  not  overstrong,  and  she's  been  spoiled." 

"  Thank  you,  father,"  said  Grace.  "  I  couldn't  have  done 
it  better  myself.  After  that,  I  am  sure  you  can't  refuse  to 
stay  to  tea,"  she  added  to  Claire. 

Claire  was  sorry  to  refuse,  but  she  was  obliged  to  do  so. 

"  I  can  not  stay  this  afternoon,"  she  said,  "  because  my 
friend,  the  lady  with  whom  I  live,  would  be  anxious  about 
me.  I  always  reach  home  at  a  certain  time,  and  she  would 
not  know  what  had  become  of  me." 

"  You  mean  the  Sister  of  Mercy?"  said  Grace, 

"  Yes,  Sister  Agnes. " 

"  What  a  pretty  name!"  said  Grace.  "  We  have  often 
seen  her,  and  wondered  what  she  was  like,  for  her  face  is 
always  hidden  by  her  veil;  but  she  looks  as  nice  and  sweet  as 
her  name." 

"Yes,"  said  Claire,  simply,  but  with  deep  significance. 
"  She  is  everything  that  is  good  and  gentle.  But  for  her— -I 
should  not  be  alive  now  to  sing  her  praises." 

"  Father,  couldn't  you  go  round  presently  to  Sister  Agnes, 
and  explain  that  we  have  kept  Miss  Sartoris  prisoner?"  said 
Grace. 

But  Claire,  knowing  how  carefully  Sister  Agnes  avoided 


988  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REG1TA. 

meeting  strangers  of  her  own  class,  rose  and  said  that  she 
would  run  home  and  come  back  presently.  She  found  the 
sister  awaiting  her. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  found  new  friends,  dear,"  she  said. 
"Go  by  all  means."  She  seemed  a  little  agitated  as  she 
asked:  "  What  did  you  say  the  name  was?" 

"  Harling,"  replied  Claire.  "They  are  very  nice  people, 
and  the  girl  seems  overflowing  with  kindness.  I  am  afraid 
she  is  very  delicate.  It  is  touching  to  see  the  affecbv>_x 
between  her  and  her  father;  his  anxiety  is  so  obvious.  I 
won't  stay  long,  sister." 

"  Stay  as  long  as  you  like,  dear,"  said  Sister  Agnes,  very 
quietly. 

Claire  was  just  a  wee  bit  excited  by  the  novelty  of  the  cir- 
cumstances, and  did  not  notice  the  peculiar  constraint  of 
Sister  Agnes's  manner.  She  went  back  to  Arundel  House, 
and  had  tea  with  the  father  and  daughter.  Grace  treated  her 
almost  like  an  old  friend,  and  Mr.  Harling  was  extremely 
kind;  but  he  was  very  thoughtful,  and  once  or  twice  Claire 
found  him  looking  at  her  with  a  singular  intentness. 

He  asked  her  one  or  two  questions,  as  to  how  long  she'd 
been  living  in  London,  and  so  on,  and  presently  left  the  girls 
alone. 

"  Now  we  will  have  a  nice  chat!"  said  Grace,  and  she  pro- 
ceeded to  give  Claire  a  sketch  of  her  life;  but  she  did  not  tell 
her  that  her  father  was  a  principal  shareholder  in  the  Butterfly 
mine. 

As  she  listened  to  Grace,  Claire  felt  half  ashamed  of  her 
own  reticence.  She  could  tell  her  nothing  of  herself  in 
return. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  be  great  friends,"  said  Grace.  "  I'm 
inclined  to  think  there  is  a  special  providence  about  our  meet- 
ing, and  I'm  also  inclined  to  believe  that  friendships,  as  well 
as  marriages,  are  made  in  heaven.  You'll  come  for  a  drive 
with  me  sometimes,  won't  you?  I  can't  walk  very  far;  I've 
often  watched  you  admiringly  as  you  came  down  the  street; 
you  look  so  strong,  and  you  walk  so  gracefully." 

Claire  laughed. 

"  Don't  be  offended,"  said  Grace.  "  I  couldn't  help  tell- 
ing you  how  much  I  admired  you,  if  I  tried.  I'd  often 
heard  of  the  beauty  of  the  English  girls,  but  I've  never  seen 
one  half  so  pretty  as  you;  but  pretty  isn't  the  word.  Now,  I 
suppose  I  am  what  people  would  call  pretty,  in  the  sixpenny 
doll  style,  but  vou  are — oh,  I  can't  find  the  exact  word/' 

"  Don't  try/'  said  Claire,  laughing,  but  blushing  a  little, 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COUP.T  BEG2O..  289 

"P?e  got  it!  Distinguished!  That's  the  word.  You 
wear  things  like  the  great  ladies  one  sees  driving  in  the  park. 
Now,  that  dress  fills  me  with  admiration  and  despair.,  T'-e 
never  succeeded  in  getting  one  to  look  anything  like  it  Where 
did  you  have  it  made?  Anywhere  about  here?" 

"It  is  one  of  Redf era's,"  said  Claire,  makr/r,  the  admis- 
sion absently. 

Grace  stared  and  laughed,  "  You  extravagant  giil!"  she 
saido  "  Fancy  wearing  a  Redfern  to  teach  in  a  school!  I'm 
afraid  it's  thrown  away  upon  tin  girls;  or,  perhaps,  you  use 
it  as  an  object  lesson — a  lesson  on  Form?5' 

Claire  colored  slightly.  "  1  have  had  it  a  long  while/'  she 
said.  "  It  is  one  of  my  old  dresses- " 

Grace  looked  at  her  shrewdly0  "  You  were  not  always  a 
school-mistress  in  Streatham?"  she  sairL 

Claire  looked  at  the  fire,  How  could  she  Tenture  to  tell 
this  warm-hearted  girl? 

"  Not  always,"  she  said. 

"  1  knew  it!"  broke  in  Grace.  "  Tha  first  time  I  saw  you 
I  said  to  father,  '  That  girl  is  a  lady ' — I  mean,  what  the 
English  people  call  a  lady,  meaning  a  '  swell, '  It's  a  horrid 
word,  dear,  but  it's  the  only  one  that  expresses  the  meaning 
You  carried  your  head  and  walked  like  the  pictures  of  the 
marchionesses  and  countesses  one  sees  in  the  illustrated  papers. 
And  so  you  were  rich  once,  and  didn't  always  teach  m  a 
school?  Did  you  lose  your  money?  You  don't  mind  my 
asking  you?" 

"  Yes,  I  lost  my  money,"  said  Claire,  "  or,  rather,  it  never 
was  mine.  I  can't  tell  you  the  whole  story;  and,  indeed,  it 
does  not  matter.  I  am  quite  happy  " — she  checked  a  sigh 
even  as  she  spoke — "  and  I  do  not  think  that  money  matters 
very  much.  [  don't  want  you  to  think  that  I  am  posing  as  a 
high-minded  kind  of  person;  what  I  mean  is,  that  one  can  be, 
if  not  very  happy,  at  least  content,  teaching  in  a  school  in 
Streatham." 

Grace  looked  at  her  admiringly,  and  touched  her  hand  with 
girlish  sympathy. 

"  I  should  like  father  to  hear  you  say  that!"  she  said, 
is  just  what  he  admires.     All  the  world  has  gone  mad  about 
money  lately,  and  I  am  delighted  to  find  some  one  who  thinks 
lightly  of  it,  and  who  cares  as  little  for  the  loss  of  it  as  you 
do." 

"  I  lost  something  else  besides  money,"  said  Claire,  with  an 
impulse  that,  was  new  to  her.  "  But  I'm  getting  over  it.  One 
has  an  idea  that  all  the  misery  in  thtf  world  h?s  fallen  to  one's 


JJ90  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

iot;  but  I  have  learned  otherwise.  Sister  Agnes  has  taught 
me  that,  however  much  one  has  suffered,  there  are  others  who 
have  suffered  more  deeply."  Her  face  seemed  transfigured 
as  she  spoke,  and  Grace  looked  at  her  with  a  kind  of  awe. 

"  Now  you  look  noble!"  she  said,  under  her  breath. 

"  Please  don't  stick  me  on  an  imaginary  pedestal!"  said 
Olaire,  with  a  laugh.  "  You  would  find  that  I  should  tumble 
off  so  very,  very  quickly." 

"  Too  late!"  said  Grace.  "  I  have  stuck  you  up  there 
already,  and  I  know  you'll  never  come  down." 

So  they  sat  over  the  fire  and  talked  until  the  striking  of  ten 
toy  the  clock  on  the  mantel-piece  startled  Claire  to  her  feet; 
and  this  was  the  strange  beginning  of  an  acquaintance  which 
ripened  with  an  extraordinary  rapidity  into  a  warm  friend- 
ship. Grace  seemed  to  have  given  her  heart  wholly  and  unre- 
servedly to  Claire,  and  confided  to  her  everything — except 
her  knowledge  of  a  gentleman  named  Gerald  Wayre.  She 
coaxed  Claire  into  taking  a  drive  with  her  nearly  every  day, 
and  the  drive  did  them  both  good,  and  brought  back  the  glow 
of  health  to  Claire's  face.  Grace  even  paid  a  visit  to  the 
school,  but,  as  she  put  it,  was  very  quickly  "  chucked;"  for 
her  appearance  created  too  much  excitement  in  that  region  of 
decorum  and  strict  discipline. 

•  Claire,  of  course,  talked  a  great  deal  about  her  friends  to 
Sister  Agnes;  but,  though  she  was  glad  that  Claire  had  made 
the  acquaintance  of  the  Harlings,  the  sister  could  not  be  per- 
suaded to  meet  them. 

"  They  lie  outside  my  world,  dear,"  she  said.  "  I  dread 
strange  faces,  excepting  those  of  the  poor  and  wretched. 
There  is  no  room  in  my  heart  for  any  one  but  them  and  you — 
and  my  dead  child." 

One  day  Mr.  Harling  came  into  the  room  where  the  two 
girls  were  sitting  talking  over  a  new  dress  for  Grace,  and 
announced  that  he  would  be  obliged  to  take  a  journey  into  the 
country.  Grace  looked  aghast. 

'*  I  couldn't  possibly  go  further,"  she  said,  with  an  air  of 
mock  sternness.  "  For  one  thing,  I've  got  to  see  about  this 
dress;  and  for  another,  I  couldn't  possibly  leave  Claire.  Now, 
if  Claire  would  come  with  us — '  * 

Claire  laughingly  shook  her  head. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Harling.  "  I  will  leave  you  behind 
to  the  care  of  the  landlady,  and,  if  I  may  venture  to  say  so, 
to  Miss  Sartoris." 

Grace  put  on  the  airs  of  a  little  child.  "Do!  I'll  promise 
to  be  good,  and  do  every tb  ing  she  tells  me.  Oh,  Claire, 


THE  MI8TBE8S  OP  COIJBT  BEG1TA.  291 

couldn't  you  conie  here  and  live  altogether  while  father  la 
away?  Now,  that's  a  splendid  idea;  in  fact,  I  won't  consent 
to  his  leaving  me  unless  you  promise  to  come.  Indeed,  it 
wouldn't  be  safe.  I'm  not  to  be  trusted;  I  should  get  a 
latch-key  and  go  to  one  of  your  music-halls  every  night,  and 
behave  generally  like  one  of  the  new  women." 

Claire  said  she  would  come  if  Sister  Agnes  approved. 

''  You  treat  her  as  it  she  were  your  mother,"  said  Grace, 
with  a  little  pout. 

"  She  has  been  more  than  a  mother  to  me,"  said  Claire. 

Sister  Agnes  gave  her  permission,  and  Mr.  Harling  started 
on  his  journey. 

"  I  will  wire  my  address,"  were  almost  his  last  words. 
*  *    '        *  *  *  *  * 

The  following  day  Gerald  was  walking  into  Thraxton  to  sea 
the  inspector  of  police  there,  for  he  had  at  last  decided  to 
place  Lucy's  case  in  the  hands  of  a  good  detective;  for  he 
himself  had  failed  to  find  the  slightest  clew,  although  he  had 
made  inquiries  in  every  direction,  and  had  devoted  all  his 
time  and  energy  to  the  search.  As  he  strode  along,  in  deep 
thought,  he  saw  a  fly  approaching,  and  glanced  at  it  absently; 
then  he  started  and  stopped  dead  short,  for  the  occupant  was 
no  other  than  Mr.  Harling. 

Gerald  shouted  and  stopped  the  carriage,  and  Mr.  Harling 
and  he  stared  at  each  other  in  mutual  astonishment. 

"  Why,  lad!"  said  Mr.  Harling,  with  a  certain  warmth  of 
affection  in  his  tone  more  marked  even  than  of  old.  "  You 
here?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Gerald.  "  Haven't  you  had  my  letter?  I 
wrote  to  Lartree." 

"  I've  not  been  back  there,"  said  Mr.  Harling.  "  I've 
been  traveling  about — on  business.  You  here,  of  all  places  in 
the  world!"  he  added  in  a  lower  tone. 

"  How  strange  that  you  should  come  to  this  place!"  said 
Gerald,  on  his  side. 

"  Oh,  I  told  you  I  was  a  kind  of  Wandering  Jew,"  said  Mr. 
Harling  in  rather  a  confused  manner.  "  And  this  is  one  of 
your  show  places,  isn't  it?" 

Gerald  nodded.  "  How  is  Miss  Grace?"  he  asked.  '  You 
haven't  brought  her  with  you;  I  hope  she  is  not  unwell?" 
There  was  a  friendly  anxiety  in  his  tone,  but  nothing  warmer, 

"  Grace  is  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Harling.     "  I  left  her  ir 

"  And  so  you've  come  to  see  Court  Eegna?"  said  Gterakl 
Mr.  Harling  started  and  looked  at  him  curiously. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  B 

"  That's  the  great  show  place,"  explained  Gerald. 

"  Oh,  ah — yes,  I've  come  to  see  Court  Regna,"  said  Mr. 
Harling.     "  Jump  in,  my  boy." 

Gerald  hesitated  a  moment,  then,  reflecting  that  he  could 
go  back  to  Thraxton  with  the  fly,  got  in. 

"  It's  very  extraordinary,  you're  being  here,"  said  Mr« 
Harling. 

"  Well,  it  isn't  really,"  said  Gerald.  "  I  was  employed 
some  months  ago  to  renew  a  wing  at  the  Court." 

Mr.  Harling  stared  at  him. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  will  think  I've  been  very  close  and — 
secretive,  Mr.  Harling,"  said  Gerald,  his  tanned  face  flushing. 
"  But  I  had  reasons  for  not  mentioning  the  matter.  It  is  a 
sore  subject  with  me."  Mr.  Harling  watched  him  closely. 
"  The  work  was  suddenly  discontinued,  and  I  left  the  place 
under  a  cloud — yes,  under  a  cloud  in  many  senses  of  the  word, 
for  I  was  suspected  of  having  enticed  one  of  the  village  girla 
to  accompany  me.  I  hope  I  need  not  say  that  I  am  quite 
innocent  of  the  villainy?" 

"  No,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Harling. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Gerald,  glancing  away.  "  But  thinga 
looked  very  black  against  me,  and  still  look.  I  only  heard 
of  the  poor  girl's  disappearance  when  I  returned  here  the 
other  day,  and  I  have  decided  to  remain  here  until  I  ha\  e 
found  her  and  proved  my  innocence." 

"Good,  very  good!"  said  Mr.  Harling.  "That's  just 
what  I  should  expect  you  to  do,  my  lad." 

"  I  came  back  by  the  merest  chance,"  said  Gerald,  "  to  see 
Miss  Sartoris  " — his  tone  softened  at  the  name — "  to  give  her 
some  papers  belonging  to  her,  that  I  had  by  accident." 

"  Miss  Sartoris,  the  owner  of  the  Court?"  said  Mr.  Harling. 

Gerald  nodded. 

Mr.  Harling  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  he 
said:  "  Lord  Wharton  left  it  to  her,  didn't  he?" 

"  He  did,"  said  Gerald. 

"  Rather  strange,  that,"  remarked  Mr.  Harling. 

"No,"  said  Gerald,  up  in  arms  for  Claire  at  once.  "He 
adopted  her  when  she  was  a  little  girl;  he  had  no  near 
relatives;  it  was  only  right  that  he  should  make  her  his  heir- 
ess." 

Mr.  Harling  looked  at  him  fixedly.  ^o  near  relatives?" 
he  said. 

"  No,"  said  Gerald. 

"  Has  Miss  Sartoris  a  sister?"  asked  Mr.  Harling,  after  a 
pf.use. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGHA.  203 

Gerald  replied  in  the  negative,     "  Why  do  you  ask?" 

Mr.  Harling  mumbled  something  in  response  and  turned  to 
look  at  the  view.  They  were  nearing  the  Court  by  this  time, 
and  the  exquisite  beauty  of  its  surroundings  seemed  to  impress 
the  old  gentleman  very  much.  Presently  a  portion  of  the 
great  house  came  in  sight,, 

"It  is  a  magnificent  place,  magnificent!"  he  exclaimec 
under  his  breath.  "  Surely  it  must  be  one  of  the  finest  places 
in  England?" 

"  It  is,"  assented  Gerald. 

"  And  it  all  belongs  to  this  Miss  Sartoris?" 

"  Everything,"  said  Gerald.  "  The  house,  all  the  land  as 
far  as  you  can  see,  and  farther,  the  village  down  there  in  the 
hollow — isn't  it  quaint?  Even  the  fishing-smacks  in  the  bay 
there." 

"  She  must  be  a  kind  of  queen!"  remarked  Mr.  Harling. 

"  She  is,"  said  Gerald,  with  a  deeper  note  in  his  voice. 

They  went  past  the  lodge  gates  and  down  toward  the  village. 
At  the  head  of  the  steep  street  they  got  out,  and  Gerald  con- 
ducted Mr.  Harling  down  the  steps.  He  looked  about  him 
with  the  deepest  interest. 

"  Where  are  you  staying?"  he  asked. 

Gerald  pointed  to  the  cottage.  Mr.  Harling  looked  at  him 
with  the  same  curiously  intent  gaze. 

"  That  is  where  the  poor  girl  and  her  father  lived,"  said 
Gerald. 

"  I  shall  stay  at  the  inn  for  a  night  or  two,"  said  Mr. 
Harling. 

Gerald  promptly  went  in  and  ordered  a  meal  and  a  comfort- 
able room.  They  returned  to  the  fly  to  drive  round  the  cele- 
brated avenue  which  wound  in  serpentine  fashion  round  the 
Court  grounds,  Mr.  Harling  exclaiming  at  the  beauty  of  the 
scene  at  every  point.  As  they  came  up  to  one  of  the  lodges, 
he  said:  "  Could  I  see  the  Court?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Gerald.  "  Miss  Sartoris  is  always  very 
glad  for  visitors  to  go  round  the  place.  In  a  sense,  it  almost 
belongs  to  the  public." 

"  Oh,  does  it?"  said  Mr.  Harling,  quaintly,  and  he  mut- 
tered to  himself  as  they  came  suddenly  upon  the  front  of  the 
house,  stretching  in  a  long  line  against  the  sky. 

They  drove  up  to  the  door,  and  Mr=  Harling  got  out  The 
hall-porter  came  to  meet  them. 

"  Is  Miss  Sartoris  within?"  asked  Mr.  Harling.  He  turned 
to  Gerald  quickly,  "  I  should  like  to  thank  the  young  ladv 
for  permitting  me  to  see  this  beautiful  place* " 


294  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA, 

"  Miss  Sartoris  is  not  at  home,  sir,"  said  the  hall-porter. 

ei  Miss  Sartoris  is  away,"  said  Gerald  at  the  same  moment. 
"  I  would  have  told  yon  that,  if  I  had  known — " 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Harling.  "  I  saw  that  the 
house  looked  occupied — " 

"  Mr.  Sapley  is  living  here,''  explained  Gerald,  quickly. 
The  hall-porter  stood  looking  from  one  to  the  other. 

11  Would  the  gentleman  like  to  come  in,  sir?"  he  suggested. 

Mr.  Harling  said  he  should  like  very  much;  and  they 
entered  the  hall.  The  old  gentleman  looked  round  him  with 
a  sort  of  admiring  awe.  He  had  often  read  of  such  a  place, 
but  had  never  seen  one;  the  magnificent  hall,  suffused  with 
the  winter  light  filtered  through  the  richly  stained  windows, 
impressed  him  to  a  remarkable  extent. 

The  butler  came  forward  and  bowing  to  Gerald,  threw  open 
the  drawing-room  door  and  invited  them  to  enter.  In  a 
similar  way  Mr.  Harling  was  shown  all  the  principal  rooms — 
"  state  "  rooms,  as?the  servants  were  fond  of  calling  them;  and 
he  gazed  about  him  in  silent  admiration.  The  butler  was 
gratified  by  the  effect  produced. 

"  Perhaps  the  gentleman  would  like  to  see  the  pictures, 
sir?"  he  said.  And  he  led  them  up  the  broad  stairs  to  the 
corridor,  and,  with  a  gracious  dignity,  pointed  out  the  more 
famous  of  the  masterpieces. 

"  Family  portraits,  sir,"  he  said,  and  he  rolled  off  some  of 
the  historic  names.  Mr.  Harling  walked  along  in  the  usual 
fashion,  nodding  now  and  again,  and  evidently  greatly  inter- 
ested. As  they  came  to  the  last,  Lord  Wharton's  portrait,  he 
stopped,  and  looked  at  it  with  an  intense  and  indescribable 
expression  on  his  weather-beaten  face. 

4<  The  Right  Honorable  Algernon  Edward  Vincent  Gerald 
Wharton,  Earl  of  Wharton,"  reeled  off  the  butler,  with 
solemn  pride. 

Mr.  Harling  seemed  scarcely  able  to  withdraw  his  eyes  from 
she  picture.  At  last  he  said  in  a  constrained  voice:  "  Is  that 
the  last  of  the  portraits?" 

"  It  is,  sir/'  said  the  butler.  "  Lord  Wharton  was  the 
last  earl.  He  was  never  married,  and  the  title  is  now  ex- 
tinct." 

"  In — deed!"  said  Mr.  Harling.  He  looked  round  him,  as 
if  searching  for  something,  and  the  butler  politely  paused  on 
the  way  down. 

"Is  there  a  portrait  of  Miss  Sartoris  here?"  asked  Mr 
Harling. 

"  I  regret  t«  say  that  there  is  not,  sir,'*  said  the  butler. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COUET  EEGNA.  295 

"  Miss  Sartoris  is  a  very  beautiful  young  lady,  if  I  may  make 
so  bold  to  say  so — as  Mr.  Wayre  knows — and  her  portrait 
would  be  a  great  ornament  amongst  the  others." 

Gerald  colored  and  averted  his  face,  and  said  nothing.  As 
they  descended  the  stairs,  old  Sapley  catno  out  of  the  library 
and  shuffled  across  the  hall.  He  glanced  up  at  them,  then 
disappeared  by  the  outer  door  at  the  back  of  the  hall. 

"  Who  is  that?"  asked  Mr.  Harling  in  an  undertone. 

"  Mr.  Sapley,  the  agent,"  replied  Gerald  in  as  low  a  voice. 

Mr.  Harling  rubbed  his  chin  and  said  nothing.  They 
reached  the  door,  and  he  turned  to  than.k  the  butler,  when 
Mordaunt  Sapley  came  up  the  step.  His  head  was  bent,  and 
he  did  not  see  them  for  a  moment,  and  he  looked  up  with  a 
start;  and  Gerald  almost  started  also,  for  the  man's  face — seen 
for  the  instant  without  its  mask — was  white  and  haggard,  as 
if  he  had  just  heard  bad  news.  It  was  the  day  after  Jenks' 
visit. 

"  My  friend — Mr.  Harling — has  been  looking  at  the  rooms 
and  the  pictures,"  explained  Gerald.  "  This  is  Mr.  Mor- 
daunt Sapley,"  he  added  to  Mr.  Harling. 

Mordaunt  had  slipped  the  mask  on  by  that  time,  and  he 
smiled  amiably.  "  My  father  will  be  very  pleased,"  he  said. 
"  Pray  take  your  friend  over  the  grounds  or  wherever  you 
like  to  go." 

"  Thanks  1"  said  Gerald.  Mordaunt  Sapley  bowed  and 
passed  into  the  hall. 

"  Very  polite  gentleman,"  said  Mr.  Harling,  when  he  and 
Gerald  had  got  out  of  hearing.  "  He  and  his  father — 1  sup- 
pose the  old  man  we  saw  in  the  hall  was  his  father? — seem  to 
be  very  much  at  home.  He  spoke  as  if  the  place  belonged  to 
them." 

"  Yes,"  said  Gerald,  with  a  frown.  "  I  don't  under- 
stand— "  He  didn't  finish  the  sentence. 

Mr.  Harling  dismissed  the  fly— Gerald  deciding  to  walk 
into  Thraxton,  and  they  went  toward  the  west  wing. 

"  That's  the  wing  I  was  at  work  on,"  said  Gerald,  rather 
grimly.  "  Let  us  come  away,  if  you've  seen  enough  of  it  I 
have  some  unpleasant  associations  connected  with  it." 

"  Let  us  go  back  to  the  inn,"  said  Mr.  Harling.  He  was 
singularly  silent  on  their  way,  and  seemed  extremely  thought- 
ful. When  they  sat  down  to  the  meal  which  had  been  pre- 
pared for  them,  he  said,  suddenly: 

"  When  is  Miss  Sartoris  coming  back?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Gerald.  '  No  one  seems  to  know. 
I  was  going  to  say  that  there  was  a  kind  of  mystery  ibout  her 


896  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

absence,  but  the  expression  would  be  scarcely  justified, 
excepting  by  the  fact  that  no  one  knows  her  address,  not  evou 
the  Sapleys." 

Mr.  Harling  poured  himself  out  a  glass  of  ale.  "  It'e 
rather  singular,"  he  said.  "  By  the  way,  isn't  it  rather  odd, 
too,  that  there's  no  portrait  of  her  up  at  the  Court?  I'm 
rather  disappointed;  it's  only  natural  that  one  should  want  tc 
see  what  the  mistress  of  such  a  grand  place  is  like." 

"  Are  you  so  very  curious?"  said  Gerald,  rather  hesitat* 
ingly,  and  putting  his  hand  into  his  breast-pocket. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  responded  Mr.  Harling,  decisively. 

"There  you  are,  then!"  said  Gerald;  and  he  pushed  the 
pencil  sketch  of  Claire  across  the  table.  "  It's  a  sketch  I 
took  of  her,  without  her  knowing  it,  some  months  ago*  It's 
an  awful  libel  on  her,  Heaven  knows,  and  yet  it's  like  her — 
like  her  enough  to  give  you  an  idea —  Good  Lord,  look  out!" 
he  broke  off,  snatching  up  the  sketch.  For  Mr.  Harling  had, 
with  unusual  awkwardness,  let  his  glass  of  ale  slip  out  of  his 
hand. 

'*  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said.  "  Tut,  tut!  how  clumsy  of 
me!  I  hope  it  hasn't  gone  on  the  picture,"  he  added,  as  he 
mopped  up  the  spilled  beer.  "  Let  me  look  at  it  again,  will 
you?" 

"  There  you  are!"  said  Gerald.  "  It's  all  right  I  set  a 
value  on  it  far  beyond  the  worth  of  the  miserable  sketch. 
Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?" 

Mr.  Harling,  aided  by  his  knowledge  of  the  circumstances, 
had  recognized  the  school-mistress  of  Streatham.  He  was  lost 
in  amazement  and  bewilderment,  and  absently  exclaimed: 
"  It's  the  image  of  her!" 

"  What!"  said  Gerald.     "  You've  never  seen  her?" 

Mr.  Harling  colored,  and  got  up  to  ring  for  more  ale.  "  I 
mean,  that  I  dare  say  it's  the  image  of  her,  only  you're  toe 
modest  to  say  so,  my  boy,"  he  said,  laughinc  curiously,, 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

GERALD  took  back  the  sketch  and  gazed  at  it,  with  a  lover's 
look  in  his  eyes,  for  a  moment  or  two  in  silence;  then  he  said, 
as  if  he  had  suddenly  made  up  his  mind: 

"  Look  here,  sir,  I  feel  as  if  I'd  got  to  tell  you — you  have 
been  so  kind  to  me,  and  I  feel,  somehow,  as  if  you  were  the 
best  friend  I  have  in  the  world — and,  indeed,  I've  no  one  else 
to  tell,  and  the  thing  is  like  a  burden  upon  me.  This  ladyr 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGffJL  297 

Miss  Sartoris,  the  mistress  of  Court  Regna— well,  I've  been 
mad  enough  to  fall  in  love  with  her.'* 

Mr.  Harling  had  half  suspected  this,  and  he  sighed,  for  he 
thought  of  Grace  and  her  hopeless  love,  and,  father-like, 
suffered  a  pang  on  her  account;  but  he  was  a  generous-hearted 
man,  and  he  liked  Gerald — indeed,  had  grown  very  fond  of 
him  for  more  reasons  than  the  all-sufficient  one  that  he  had 
saved  Grace's  life. 

"  Go  on,  my  boy,"  he  said,  encouragingly. 

"I'm  half  ashamed  to,"  said  Gerald,  "  for  it  must  sound 
so  preposterous  to  you.  You  have  seen  Court  Regna;  you 
know  how  rich  she  is;  how  lofty  the  position  she  occupies 
there;  and  you  know  what  I  am." 

"  Yes,  I  know  what  you  are,"  said  Mr.  Harling,  quietly. 
Gerald  lighted  his  pipe. 

"  A  penniless  adventurer,"  he  went — "  a  mere  nobody;  it 
was  madness,  of  course,  but  I  can  no  more  help  it  than  I  can 
help  breathing.  You  have  no  idea  what  she  is  like." 

"  Haven't  I?    No;  I  suppose  not." 

"  This  ridiculous  sketch  doesn't  give  the  least  idea  of  her. 
She  is  one  of  the  loveliest  of  God's  creatures,  and  as  good  as 
she  is  beautiful.  I  met  her  by  chance,  and  was  thrown  into 
daily  communication  with  her  while  I  was  renewing  that  west 
wing;  why,  no  man  could  help  loving  her  if  he  had  seen  her 
as  often  as  I  did!  There  is  a  nameless  charm  about  her 
which  only  those  could  understand  who  came  under  its  spell. 
She  is  very  proud,  but  not  in  a  vulgar  way;  she  is  humble 
enough  in  some  things,  and,  like  yourself  and  Miss  Grace, 
thinks  very  little  of  wealth;  and  I  suppose  because  of  that, 
and — and  because  she  was  gracious  enough  to  be  friendly  and 
kind  to  me,  I  '  up  and  told  her  of  my  love/  as  the  song  says." 

"  And  what,  did  she  say?"  asked  Mr.  Harling,  deeply  inter- 
ested. 

"  She  said,  *  No!'"  said  Gerald,  stifling  a  sigh,  and  smok- 
ing hard.  "  The  night  before  I  had  ventured  to  call  her  by 
her  name,  and  I  had  gone  away  from  her,  hoping —  Ah! 
well,  the  next  morning,  all  my  hopes  were  slain.  She  said 
<No!'  and  I  left  her." 

"  She  didn't  care  for  you?"  said  Mr.  Harling. 

"  I  suppose  not,"  assented  Gerald,  with  a  grim  smile. 

"  You  don't  speak  with  certainty?" 

Gerald  colored. 

"  Don't  think  me  a  coxcomb,"  he  said.  "  Frankly,  I  have 
always  had  a  vague  kind  of  hope  that  she— she  didn't  dislike 
me." 


298  THE  MISTRESS  Off  COUBT  BEGffA, 

"  Then  why—"  asked  Mr.  Harling. 

Gerald  shook  his  head. 

"  I  can't  tell  you.  I  thought  for  a  moment  or  two,  tha 
other  day,  that  it  was  because  of  this  scanadal  about  this  poor 
girl,  Lucy  Hawker.  But  I  remembered  that  Miss  Sartoris 
could  have  heard  nothing  of  that  when  she  refused  me." 

"  Why  didn't  you  ask  her  again,  lad?"  said  Mr.  Harling. 

"  I've  not  seen  her,"  said  Gerald.  "  1  left  the  place  at 
once."  He  told  the  story  of  the  broken  leg.  "  When  I 
came  back  she  was  gone,  as  you  know;  and  if  I  had  asked  her 
again,  I  feel  that  she  would  have  given  me  the  same  answer. 
1  know  there's  no  hope  for  me;  she's  the  only  woman  I  shall 
ever  love;  there's  not  a  day  that  I  don't  think  of  her;  in  fact, 
I  carry  her  about  with  me  in  my  heart  just  as  I  carry  her 
sketch  in  my  pocket." 

Mr.  Harlmg  seemed  about  to  speak,  and  then  checked  him- 
self, and  after  a  pause,  said : 

"  Nobody  knows  where  she  is?" 

Gerald  shook  his  head. 

"  As  you  say,  that  seems  to  me  rather  extraordinary.  And 
it's  very  extraordinary  that  the  Sapleys  should  be  living  in 
that  big  house  of  hers.  My  boy,  I  don't  like  the  look  of  those 
two  men;  I'm  not  given  to  fancies,  but  I've  taken  a  red-hot 
dislike  to  both  of  'em.  The  old  man,  with  that  hawk-like 
face  of  his,  looks  capable  of  anything;  and  the  son,  though 
he's  not  a  bad-looking  chap,  had  a  hang-dog  countenance 
when  we  first  saw  him  to-day.  You — you  don  t  suspect  any 
foul  play,  Gerald?" 

Gerald  frowned,  and  smoked  furiously. 

"  What  foul  play  could  there  be?"  he  said.  "  You  don't 
suppose  they've  put  Miss  Sartoris  out  of  the  way?"  And  he 
laughed  at  the  grotesqueness  of  the  idea. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  replied  Mr.  Harling;  "  though,  upon  my 
aoul,  both  father  and  son  look  capable  of  it" 

Gerald  laughed  again. 

"Scarcely  that  I"  he  said.  "But  I  wish  I  knew  where 
she  is." 

Mr.  Harling  again  seemed  about  to  blurt  out  something, 
and  again  checked  himself. 

"  She  may  come  back  soon,"  said  Gerald.  "  I  may  be 
here — for  I  shall  not  go  a\vay,  excepting  for  a  day  or  two,  for 
the  purposes  of  my  search — until  this  mystery  of  Lucy's  dis- 
appearance is  solved.  I  shall  see  her  once  more,  and  give  her 
some  papers  I  have  of  hers,  and  then — then  I  shall  go  back  to 


THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  EEGNA,  290 

Lartree,  and  finish  Miss  Grace's  portrait,  and  set  off  on  the 
tramp  again." 

Mr.  Harling  looked  at  him  curiously. 

;<  You  will  make  your  fortune  yet,  my  boy/'  he  said. 
;<  Your  sort  always  does  in  the  end.  Keep  up  your  Irart!" 
He  leaned  across  the  table,  and  patted  Gerald  on  the  shoulder, 
*  Things  may  come  all  right,  after  all;  who  knows!" 

Gerald  shook  his  head. 

"  A  fortune  wouldn't  be  much  use  to  me  without  her!"  h« 
said.  The  talk  had  upset  him,  and  he  paced  up  and  down 
the  room  restlessly. 

"  I  have  to  go  into  Thraxton  about  this  business  of  Lucy 
Hawker's.  You  won't  mind  me  leaving  you?  You'll  find 
plenty  to  interest  and  amuse  you  if  you  stroll  about  this 
place." 

"  Off  with  you,  lad!"  said  Mr.  Harling.  "  I  ahall  find 
plenty  to  amuse  me. " 

After  Gerald  had  gone,  the  old  man  sat  staring  at  the  fire, 
and  rubbing  his  chin;  then,  with  an  air  of  resolution,  he  sud- 
denly jumped  up,  put  on  his  hat  and  coat,  and  walked  out 
toward  the  Court.  He  stopped  now  and  again  on  his  way, 
and  looked  hard  at  the  ground,  as  if  he  were  thinking  deeply 
and  was  not  quite  clear  as  to  his  course  of  action.  When  he 
reached  the  Court  he  asked  for  Mr.  Sapley,  "  The  old  gentle- 
man, please." 

A  footman  took  him  into  the  library.  Old  Sapley  was 
sitting  at  the  table,  with  his  head  sunk  between  his  shoulders, 
very  like  a  hawk,  indeed.  Mordaunt's  "  illness,"  and  his 
extraordinary  behavior  on  the  preceding  night,  had  affected 
the  old  man  very  much  indeed,  and  he  was  still  brooding  over 
it  when  his  visitor  was  announced.  He  gazed  up  at  Mr. 
Harling  morosely,  and  repeated  the  name  several  times^  as  if 
trying  to  remember  it,  then  he  shook  his  head. 

"  I  don't  know  you,"  he  said.  "  It's  my  son  Mordaunt 
you  want  to  see,  I  expect?" 

"No;  it's  you,  Mr.  Sapley,"  said  Mr.  Harling,  taking  the 
chair  which  old  Sapley  motioned  him  to.  "  I  am  a  atranger 
to  you,  and  I  will  state  my  business  at  once.  I  am  a  friend 
of  Miss  Sartoris's." 

Old  Sapley  started  slightly,  and  a  sharp  look  came  into  his 
cunning  eyes. 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  any  friend  of  Miss  Sartoris's,"  he  said, 
"  though  I  never  heard  your  name.  Harling — Harling!"  he 
repeated.  "  But  my  memory's  bad  lately.  What  can  I  do 
for  you?" 


BOO  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

"  As  a  friend  of  Miss  Sartoris's — "  began  Mr.  Harling. 

Old  Sapley,  watching  him  intently,  broke  in,  his  eyes  grow- 
ing shifty,  as  he  rubbed  his  hands  one  over  the  other: 

"  If  you've  come  here  on  her  behalf,  Mr.  Harling,  FIH 
af-;aid  you've  come  too  late." 

'  Too  late?"  echoed  Mr.  Harling. 

"  Yes,"  said  old  Sapley,  showing  his  fangs  in  a  senile  sign 
of  triumph.  "  When  we  offered  Miss  Sartoris  terms,  she 
would  have  been  wise  to  have  taken  them;  circumstances 
have  altered  since  then.  I  don't  say  that  my  son,  Mordy — 1 
mean,  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley  " — he  corrected  himself  promptly 
— "  wouldn't  marry  her  even  now;  but  there's  no  need  for  it. 
You  may  have  heard  of  my  son,  Mr.  Harling?  He's  one  of 
the  principal  men  in  the  place;  he's  standing  for  the  county; 
you  may  have  read  his  address?  My  son  is  a  clever  man;  he's 
trying  to  be  a  great  one.  He  could  do  better  than  marry 
Claire  Sartoris!" 

.To  say  that  Mr.  Harling  was  filled  with  surprise  would  be 
but  to  inadequately  describe  his  amazement.  Mr.  Sapley  saw 
it,  but,  ascribing  it  to  a  different  cause,  chuckled  with 
malicious  enjoyment. 

"  She  should  have  taken  him  when  she  could  have  got 
him!"  he  said.  "  I  made  her  the  offer  myself,  though  I  was 
dead  against  it.  But  Mordy  had  a  fancy  for  the  girl,  and  I 
didn't  want  to  balk  him — I  never  refused  him  anything;  I've 
been  a  good  father  to  Mordy,  a  good  father — a  good  father!" 
he  maundered  off,  almost  childishly. 

Mr.  Harling  sat  speechless,  and  Mr^  Sapley  pulled  himself 
together  again,  and  went  on: 

"  So,  as  I  say,  it's  too  late.  My  son  can  look  higher.  I 
shouldn't  be  surprised  if  he  married  a  title.  There's  a  good 
many  daughters  of  poor  peers  about;  lots  of  'em  would  jump 
at  my  son  with  his  money  and  his  position!" 

Mr.  Harling  wiped  his  forehead.  Was  the  old  man  mad? 
"  I  don't  understand,  Mr.  Sapley  I"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  I  see!"  said  old  Sapley.  "  You've  come  about 
money — the  allowance  he  offered  her?" 

"You  offered  Miss  Sartoris  money?"  said  Mr.  Harling. 
Yes,  certainly,  the  old  man  must  be  mad! 

Mr.  Sapley  nodded,  then  looked  up  sideways  with  a  grin. 

"  She's  come  down  a  peg  or  two,  has  she?"  he  said.  "  I 
thought  she  would.  Nothing  like  poverty  for  bringing  down 
high  stomachs;  we've  humbled  her  pride,  have  we?  Lord 
knows  we  suffered  enough  from  it,  Mordy  and  I!  Well, 
you're  oome  on  a  poor  errand,  Mr,  Harling.  Th»  offer  was 


THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGJTA.  801 

made  without  prejudice,  as  we  lawyers  say,  and  it's  with- 
drawn. She  treated  it  with  scorn,  and  she's  humbled  herself 
too  late.  You  tell  her,  from  me,  that  she  won't  get  any 
allowance  out  of  us;  she'll  have  to  work  for  her  living,  as 
many  a  better  woman  has  done."  He  chuckled,  and  looked 
at  Mr.  Harling  cunningly.  "  Perhaps  she  thinks  that  there'll 
be  something  left  after  the  mortgage  and  the  bonds  are  satis- 
fied. If  so,  tell  her  not  to  count  on  that,  for  there  won't  be 
a  penny  left  when  our  claims  are  satisfied!'* 

"  Your  claims?'*  began  Mr.  Harling;  but  dd  Bapley  inter- 
rupted him: 

She  has  told  you  all  about  it,  I  suppose.    You're  a 
lawyer,  eh?" 

Mr.  Harling  did  not  contradict  him.  Indeed,  old  Sapley, 
in  his  triumph,  did  not  wait. 

"  Well,  I'm  not  afraid.  Everything's  straightforward. 
You  won't  find  a  flaw,  a  screw  loose.  We've  given  her  formal 
notice  of  foreclosure,  and  shall  sell  off  when  the  notice  termi- 
nates." He  laughed,  and  rubbed  his  hands.  "  Of  course  we 
shall  take  over  the  place  ourselves. " 

"  I  see!"  said  Mr.  Harling,  and,  indeed,  he  did  see  the 
whole  of  the  cunningly  planned  business.  "  I  will  tell  Miss 
Sartoris  what  you  say. " 

"  Ah,  do!"  said  old  Sapley,  insolently. 

Mr.  Harling  rose.  "  Will  you  tell  me  the  total  of  Miss 
Sartoris's  indebtedness  to  you,  Mr.  Sapley?" 

Old  Sapley  took  out  a'  pocket-book  and  consulted  it,  and 
gave  the  amount.  "  Pretty  large,  eh?"  he  said,  with  a  grin. 

"  It  is,  it  is — very  large!"  assented  Mr.  Harling.  "  I  am 
much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Sapley,  for  the— information  you 
have  given  me. " 

"  You're  welcome!"  said  Mr.  Sapley. 

"  And  I  will  only  trouble  you  further  to  give  me  the  date 
<rf  the  foreclosure." 

Old  Sapley  gave  it  to  him.  '  Very  close,  ain't  it?  M 
said. 

"  Very!"  assented  Mr.  Harling.  "  I  will  wish  yon  good- 
day  now,  Mr.  Sapley." 

Old  Sapley  nodded  curtly.     "  Good-day.     I'm  afraid  jou 
haven't  done  much  good,  eh?"  And  he  leered  up  at  him. 
should  recommend  you  to  throw  up  the  case;  you'll  make 
nothing  out  of  it.     I  give  you  that  advice  as  a  brother  prpfes- 
Bional.     Needy  clients  bring  no  wool,  eh?    Throw  it  up! 

"Thank  you  for  your  advice,  Mr.  Sapley!'1'  said  Mr 
Harling.  "I  will  consider  it.  Good-day.  '  He  was  eh 


303  -J*.  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGNA, 

struggling  with  his  amazement  when  he  got  outside,  and 
though  he  stood  and  looked  at  the  house,  it  is  scarcely  too 
much  to  say  that  he  did  not  see  it.  "  The  old  scoundrel*"' 
he  murmured  to  himself,  as  he  walked  along.  "  The 
in-fer-nal  scoundrel!  That  poor  girl!  To  think  that  sin's 
teaching  school  while  that  ola  carrion-crow  is  perching  in  that 

Eretty  nest  of  hers!    It's  desecration,  that's  what  it  is!    Anc 
e'd    got    it  all   so    cut    and    dried,  and  be-eauti-fully  ar 
ranged!    Why,  it's  like  a  romance!    Yes,  you  must  come 
over  to  '  ae  old  country  if  you  want  romance.     The  bald- 
headed  old  vulture!" 

But  presently  his  anger  and  indignation  gave  place  to 
anticipatory  satisfaction,  and  he  smiled  to  himself  as  he 
trotted  along  the  road  toward  the  inn. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIIL 

GEBALD  came  back  from  Tbraxton  late  in  the  evening.  He 
looked  somewhat  disappointed  and  discouraged. 

"  Well,  lad,'"  said  Mr.  Harling.  "  Come  and  sit  down  and 
have  a  glass  of  toddy.  What  news?" 

Gerald  drew  his  chair  up  to  the  fire,  and  pushed  the  hair 
from  his  forehead,  "  Oh,  not  satisfactory!"  he  said.  "  The 
inspector  can't  help  me.  He  said  it's  not  a  matter  for  the 
police  at  alL  No  offense  against  the  law  has  been  committed, 
and,  therefore,  the  police  can  not  take  the  affair  up.  He 
pointed  out  that  if  they  were  to  undertake  to  find  every  girl 
who  ran  off  with  her  lover,  they  would  have  their  hands  pretty 
full.  If  she'd  taken  any  of  her  father's  goods  they  would 
have  been  justified  in  trying  to  find  her.  Or  if  there  was  anj 
reason  to  suspect  foul  play,  it  would,  of  course,  be  their  busi- 
ness to  follow  the  matter  up." 

"  And  you  don't  suspect  foul  play?"  said  Mr.  Harling. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Gerald.  "  Why  should  I?  The  inspector 
suggested  that  I  should  employ  a  private  detect.''; •«•  and  get  a 
good  man  down  from  London." 

"  Well,  why  not?"  said  Mr.  Harling. 

Gerald  colored,  and  looked  hard  at  the  fire.  "  Well,  for 
one  thing,"  he  said,  "  I  haven't  the  means;  and  for  another, 
I  have  a  repugnance  to  bringing  a  strange  detective  into 
Regna  and  making  the  poor  girl's  story  public." 

"  As  regards  the  money,"  said  Mr.  Harling,  "  I  should 
take  it  as  a  favor  if  you'll  let  me  find  that.  When  I  say  a 
favor,  I  mean  it;  I'm  very  much  interested  in  anything  thai 
concerns  you,  my  boy,  and  this  ocncerns  you  very  deeply- 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  BEGUTA.  308 

Besides,  I  like  to  do  a  little  good  with  my  money,  if  I  can; 
it's  a  luxury.  You  run  up  to  London,  and  see  a  first-rate 
detective.  You  needn't  bring  him  down;  but  just  lay  the 
case  before  him;  he  may  be  able  to  give  you  a  hint" 

"Very  well,  I  will,  sir,"  said  Gerald.  "  And  thank  you. 
And  while  I  am  in  London,  I  should  like  to  go  and  see  Misi 
Grace,  if  you'll  give  me  her  address." 

Mr.  Marling  hadn't  thought  of  this,  and  he  rubbed  his  chin 
and  looked  rather  confused;  but  there  was  no  help  for  it. 

"  She'll  be  very  glad  to  see  you,  my  lad,"  he  said- 
"  Arundel  House,  Streatham — just  outside  London." 

They  sat  and  talked  until  a  late  hour — but  Mr.  Harling 
said  nothing  of  his  second  visit  to  the  Court — and  then  Gerald 
went  off  to  the  cottage.  He  saw  Jenks  just  ouside. 

"  I  am  going  up  to  London  to-morrow,  Jenks,"  he  said. 
He  was  just  about  to  add,  "  to  see  a  detective,"  but  pulled 
himself  up  in  time. 

"  Are  you  indeed,  sir?"  said  Jenks.  "  Ain't  heard  o' 
nothing  fresh,  sir,  I  suppose?" 

Gerald  shook  his  head,  and  Jenks,  with  a  "  good-night," 
sauntered  on. 

Mr.  Harling  went  to  see  Gerald  off  by  the  train  the  next 
morning,  and  at  the  last  moment  put  a  letter  into  Gerald'* 
hand. 

"  1  wish  you'd  run  into  my  bankers — London  and  West- 
minster— with  that,  Gerald,"  he  said.  "  You'll  get  ther* 
before  they  close." 

Gerald  promised.  Mr.  Harling  wrung  his  hand  affection- 
ately, and  the  train  started.  Gerald  took  a  cab  straight  to 
the  bank,  and  handed  in  the  note.  It  was  received  with  the 
respect  which  is  generally  accorded  to  communications  from 
a  millionaire,  and  the  manager  came  out  to  say: 

"  Certainly,  certainly!  We  will  do  what  Mr.  Harling  asks, 
:o  any  amount;  I  will  write  him  to  that  effect." 

As  Streatham  was  so  near  London,  Gerald  thought  that  he 
would  go  down  there  after  he  had  seen  the  detective,  and  put 
up  at  a  hotel  in  the  place,  so  that  he  might  call  upon  Miss 
Grace  the  next  morning.  He  went  down  to  the  office  of  a 
well-known  detective,  and  had  an  interview  with  the  famous 
man,  who  listened  to  him  without  interrupting,  and  remarked, 
quietly,  at  the  finish  of  Gerald's  statement: 

"  I'm  afraid  there  has  been  foul  play,  Mr.  Wayre." 

Gerald  was  startled.     "  Good  heavens!  why?"  he  said. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  said  the  detective.  "  When  a  girl  rum 
away,  she  invariably  communicateg  with  her  peopje;  sooner  01 


304  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNX 

later  ehe  writes  a  few  lines,  or  else  she  comes  back  to  ohem 
If  the  man  marries  her  she  goes  back  as  proud  as  Punch;  if 
he  deserts  her,  she  writes,  as  I  say.  Now,  this  girl  was  not 
one  of  the  hard  and  vicious  sort?" 

"  No,  no!"  said  Gerald. 

"Just  so;  and  she  wouldn't  leave  her  father  without  a 
word.  I  speak  from  experience;  I've  had  hundreds  of  similar 
cases  through  my  hands,  and  I've  always  found  that  they've 
worked  out  as  I  say." 

"  But — but/'  said  Gerald,  "  what  is  it  you  suspect?" 

"That  the  girl  has  been  made  away  with,"  said  the 
detective  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone. 

Gerald  went  pale.  "  I  can  scarcely  imagine  that,"  he  said. 
"  What  am  I  to  do?  Where  am  I  to  look?" 

"  Well,  of  course,  I  should  say  '  send  me  down  there/  ' 
replied  the  detective,  with  a  smile.     "  But  I  can  easily  under- 
stand your  reluctance  to  do  so.     If  you  want  a  hint,  I  say — 
look  for  your  man  at  Court  Regna!" 

Gerald  shook  his  head.  "  I  have  looked  for  him  there;  I 
know  every  man  in  the  place;  there  is  no  man  there  capable 
of  such  a  deed." 

The  detective  smiled  and  glanced  at  his  watch.  "  All  the 
same,  I  think  you'll  find  I'm  right,  Mr.  Wayre,"  he  said. 
"  You  go  back  there  and  keep  your  eyes  open.  If  you  want 
me,  send  me  a  wire,  and  I'll  come  down  by  the  next  train 
and  find  a  clew." 

"  There  doesn't  seem  to  be  any  clew,"  said  Gerald,  despair- 
ingly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  there  is  always  a  clew,"  said  the  de- 
tective, cheerfully,  "  and  it's  just  in  spotting  them  that  we 
detectives  have  the  pull  over  you  amateurs.  Good-afternoon. 
And  thank  you." 

Gerald  took  the  train  for  Streatham.  He  would  see  Miss 
Grace  and  go  back  to  Regna  at  once;  the  least  he  could  do 
would  be  to  follow  the  detective's  advice.  As  he  was  inquir- 
ing his  way  to  the  hotel,  outside  the  station  he  saw  a  small 
crowd  collected  at  the  corner  of  a  street.  He  had  to  pass  it 
on  his  way  to  the  hotel,  and  he  stopped  to  see  what  was  the 
matter.  In  the  center  of  the  crowd  a  small  boy  was  lying  in 
the  road;  a  Sister  of  Mercy  was  kneeling  beside  him,  quite 
regardless  of  the  mud,  with  his  head  upon  her  arm;  and  a 
brewer's  dray  standing  beside  the  pavement,  its  driver  staring 
helplessly  and  despondently  at  the  boy,  made  the  accident  plain 
to  Gerald. 

He  pushed  his  way  through  the  gaping  crowd,  and  addressed 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  305 

tKe  Sister  of  Mercy.     "  Is  he  very  much  hurt?"  he  asked. 
"  Can  I  help  you?" 

She  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him,  and  Gerald  wai 
struck  by  the  sweetness  of  the  pale,  deeply  lined  face — so 
greatly  impressed  that,  for  a  second,  he  forgot  the  object  of 
his  inquiries. 

The  sister,  too,  seemed  startled,  either  by  his  sudden  pres 
ence,  or  the  question,  and  her  sad,  placid  eyes  rested  on  his 
face  with  a  half -frightened,  half -inquiring  gaze;  but  she  recov- 
ered herself  in  an  instant  or  two,  and  said  in  a  low  voice: 

"  He  has  been  run  over,  and  has  fainted;  I  am  waiting 
until  he  has  sufficiently  recovered  to  remove  him.  There  is  a 
village  hospital  in  the  next  street,  and  I  will  have  him  taken 
there." 

Gerald  bent  down  on  the  other  side  of  the  boy,  and  gently 
moved  his  arms  and  legs. 

"  I  don't  think  there  are  any  bones  broken,"  he  said. 

"  I  think  we  might  move  him  now,"  said  the  sister,  after  a 
little  time.  "  If  you  will  get  a  cab — " 

Gerald  picked  the  boy  up  in  his  arms  very  tenderly  and 
carefully. 

"  I  think  he'll  travel  better  this  way,"  he  said.  "  I  shaVt 
jolt  him  so  much." 

The  sister  walked  a  little  in  front  of  him  to  show  him  the 
way,  the  crowd,  of  course,  followed  them  open-mouthed. 
Gerald  carried  the  child  into  the  neat  little  room  of  the  village 
hospital,  and  the  doctor  came  in. 

"  I  will  wait  outside,  and  hear  what  is  amiss  with  him,"  said 
Gerald. 

Presently  the  sister  came  out  to  him. 

"  He  is  not  very  much  hurt,"  she  said.  "  He  was  half 
stunned  by  strikinghis  head  when  he  was  knocked  down,  and 
very  frightened.  Would  you  like  to  see  him?" 

Gerald  said  he  should,  and  he  followed  her  hi.  The  boy, 
very  large-eyed  and  pale,  looked  inclined  to  whimper;  but 
Gerald  addressed  him  in  just  the  proper  tone,  and  so  arrested 
the  tears. 

"  Well,  my  little  man?"  he  said.  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you 
are  not  very  much  hurt  after  all."  He  sat  down  beside  him 
and  took  his  hand.  "  I  suppose  his  people  are  coming?"  he 
said  to  the  sister  in  an  u  ode  r tone. 

"  He's  an  orphan,"  said  Sister  Agnes.  "  But  I  will  teke 
charge  of  him." 

"Then  he  will  do  very  well,"  said  Gerald. 

Sister  Agnes,  from  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  raised  her  eyei 


306  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGHA. 

and  looked  at  Gerald's  handsome,  sun-tanned  face  with  £ 
nervousness  that  was  quite  foreign  to  her;  and  Gerald,  as  he 
met  her  gaze,  felt  the  same  strange  sensation  of  which  he  had 
been  conscious  when  he  first  saw  her  face.  There  was  a 
troubled  and  preoccupied  expression  in  her  eyes,  and  her  hand 
trembled  as  it  smoothed  the  counterpane. 

"  You  have  been  very  kind,"  she  said.  "  I  have  not 
thanked  you  yet!" 

Gerald  smiled. 

"  I've  done  very  little,"  he  said.  "  He  will  need  all  hia 
thanks  for  you,  mother." 

He  had  addressed  her  by  the  maternal  title  often  accorded 
to  the  sisters  of  the  poor;  but  it  seemed  to  have  a  strange 
effect  upon  her.  She  grew  deathly  pale,  her  lips  quivered, 
and  Gerald  fancied  that  the  sad,  patient  eyes  had  grown  sud- 
denly moist. 

"  I  am  called  sister,"  she  said. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  reverently.  "  But  I  expect 
you  are  mother  as  well  as  sister  to  many  of  these  poor  folk. 
May  I  know  your  name?*' 

"  I  am  called  Sister  Agnes,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

*'  Sister  Agnes!"  he  repeated,  as  reverently  as  before. 
"  May  I  come  in  to  see  the  little  fellow  again?"  he  asked. 
"  I  am  staying  here  for  a  day  or  two.  I  am  a  stranger  here, 
and  putting  up  at  the  hotel." 

She  seemed  to  listen  as  if  she  were  listening  to  something 
more  than  his  words,  and  it  was  evident  that  she  was  battling 
with  an  agitation  quite  unusual  with  her. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  He  will  be  glad  to  see 
you.  I  shall  keep  him  here  until  he  has  quite  recovered." 

Gerald  rose,  but  was  conscious  of  a  strange  reluctance  to 
go.  Something  about  this  sad-faced,  white-haired  Sister  of 
Mercy  cast  a  kind  of  spell  over  him.  He  knew  that  he  had 
never  seen  her  before,  and  yet  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  had 
not  only  seen  her,  but  known  her  very  well.  He  attributed 
this  peculiar  feeling  to  the  influence,  subtle  and  not  to  be 
described,  exercised  by  her  sacred  calling,  and  the  patient  sad- 
ness and  gentleness  of  her  voice  and  manner.  For  the  sake  of 
saying  something,  an  excuse  for  lingering,  he  said: 

"  Can  you  tell  me  the  way  to  Arundel  House?" 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  with  a  half-startled  questioning, 
and  her  lips  moved  for  a  moment  or  two  without  speech. 
She  told  him. 

"  Are  you  going  there?"  she  asked.  "  You  have  friends 
there?" 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  30? 

''  Yes,"  said  Gerald.  '  I  am  going  to  see  a  young  lady 
named  Harling." 

She  repeated  the  name,  then  sunk  into  the  chair  beside  the 
couch,  with  her  head  bent  and  her  hands  clasped  together. 
Gerald  was  alarmed,  and  thought  that  she  was  ill. 

He  went  round  to  her  and  bent  over  her. 

"  Are  you  ill?"  he  asked.  "  This  has  upset  you.  Can  I 
get  you  a  glass  of  water?" 

She  rose,  but  looked  so  fragile,  so  tremulous,  and  likely  to 
fall,  that  Gerald  ventured  to  put  his  hand  upon  her  arm  sup- 
portingly.  She  trembled  still  more,  and  looked  into  his  face 
with  a  half-fearful,  half-yearning  expression  in  her  eyes. 

"  It's  all  right,"  said  Gerald  in  his  cheery  way,  and  yet 
with  a  tenderness  and  gentleness  which  brought  the  tears  to 
her  eyes.  "  There's  no  need  to  be  troubled  about  him;  the 
little  fellow  is  all  right.  Sit  down  and  rest;  I'll  send  the 
nurse  to  you." 

She  had,  perhaps  unconsciously,  put  her  hand  upon  his. 
She  drew  it  away  now,  and  turned  her  head  aside  so  that  the 
veil  hid  her  face. 

"  No,  no!"  she  said.  "  I  am  all  right.  Do  not  send  for 
her;  I  would  rather  be  alone." 

Gerald's  hand  lingered  on  her  arm  for  a  moment  or  two. 
He  also  was  agitated. 

"  I  will  come  again,"  he  said,  and  slowly  left  the  room. 

When  he  had  gone,  Sister  Agnes  covered  her  white  face 
with  her  hand. 

"  What  is  it?"  she  moaned  to  herself.  "  The  voice,  the 
face,  seemed  to  go  to  my  heart!  Why  did  I  not  ask  him  his 
name?  And  he  is  going  to  see  some  people  of  the  name  of 
Harling.  Oh,  I  am  in  deep  waters,  deep  waters!"  Her  lips 
moved  in  silent  prayer  for  a  moment  or  two,  but  when  the 
nurse  re-entered,  Sister  Agues  was  as  calm  and  placid — 
though  paler  than  usual  perhaps — as  was  her  wont. 

Gerald  went  to  the  hotel  and  got  some  dinner.  All 
through  the  meal  his  meeting  with  Sister  Agnes  haunted  and 
troubled  him;  and  when  he  went  to  sleep,  he  dreamed  that 
she  was  standing  beside  the  bed,  and  was  bending  over  him 
with  a  look  on  her  face  which  one  sees  in  the  pictured  faces 
of  the  saintp. 

After  breakfast,  the  next  morning,  ne  made  his  way  to 
Arundel  House.  The  street  was  full  of  children,  for  it  was 
Saturday,  and  a  holiday,  and  Gerald,  who  was  fond  of  chil- 
dren, looked  at  them  as  he  threaded  his  way  through  the 


308  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA. 

groups,  with  a  pleasant  smile.  He  was  told  that  Miss  Har- 
liug  was  in. 

"  At  least,  I  think  she  is,  sir,"  said  the  servant.  "  If  you'll 
come  upstairs."  She  opened  the  drawing-room  door,  and  Ger- 
ald entered.  A  lady  was  sitting  with  her  back  to  the  light. 
She  was  reading,  and  did  not  look  np  for  the  moment,  and 
Gerald  went  toward  her  with  "  Miss  Grace!"  on  his  lips,  then 
he  stopped  dead  short,  as  if  he  had  been  shot. 

The  lady  looked  up,  uttered  an  exclamation,  and  so  the;. 
stared  at  each  other  for  the  space  of  a  second,  in  breathless 
silence.  Gerald  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Claire — Miss  Sartoris!"  he  exclaimed,  as  if  he  could  not 
believe  that  she  was  really  there,  within  a  few  paces  of  him; 
and,  indeed,  he  could  not. 

The  book  dropped  from  Claire's  lap  as  she  rose.  All  the 
color  had  fled  from  her  face,  and  her  lips  were  tightly  com- 
pressed, as  if  her  heart  were  throbbing  painfully. 

"  Mr.  Wayre!"  she  said.  The  sight  of  her  agitation 
increased  his. 

"  You  here,  Miss  Sartoris!"  he  said.     "  How  is  this?" 

Claire  was  making  a  tremendous  effort  to  regain  her  self- 
possession.  The  sight  of  him  set  every  nerve  in  her  body 
thrilling,  as  the  strings  of  a  harp  thrill  to  the  touch  of  a 
familiar  hand. 

"  Why  should  I  not  be  here,  Mr.  Wayre?"  she  said,  trying 
to  speak  coldly.  Her  manner  aroused  Gerald's  spirit.  After 
all,  he  had  endured  a  great  deal  at  her  hands,  and  even  a  worm 
will  turn  if  you  tread  on  it  too  hard. 

"  Miss  Sartoris,"  he  said,  "  you  speak  to  me,  you  look  at 
me — even  at  this  moment  of  surprise,  when  we  meet,  to  our 
mutual  astonishment — as  if  I  had  committed  some  capital 
crime,  or  offended  you  beyond  hope  of  pardon!" 

Claire  bit  her  lip.     "  You  did  not  come  to  see  me?"  she 


"  No,"  he  said,  almost  sternly;  "  I  came  to  see  Miss  Har- 
ling." 

"  She  is  a  friend  of  mine;  I  am  staying  with  her.  I  will 
go  and  fetch  her." 

"  One  moment,  if  you  please,  Miss  Sartoris!"  said  Gerald, 
rather  gravely.  "  I  am  aware  that  I  have  no  right  to  ask 
the  question,  hut — well,  I  flattered  myself  that  you  once  hon- 
ored me  with  your  friendship,  and  I  will,  therefore,  venture  to 
ask  you  why  you  have  left  the  Court,  concealed  your  address, 
and  caused  your  friends — I  am  thinking  of  others  besides 
myself — great  anxiety?" 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGffA.  80S 

Claire  looked  down,  bat  made  no  reply. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  "  I  take  your  silence  as  an  intima- 
tion that  it  is  no  business  of  mine;  but,  Miss  Sartoris,  I  have 
now  to  ask  you  a  question  which  I  deem  I  have  a  right  to 

Claire  began  to  tremble.  And  yet  how  sweet  to  her  was 
the  voice,  stern,  and  almost  angry,  as  it  was! 

'  The  last  time  I  saw  you  I  had  the  audacity  to  tell  you 
that  I  loved  you." 

The  color  rose  to  Claire's  face,  and  her  eyes  began  to  glow 
under  her  lids. 

"It  was  an  audacity,  I  admit,  and  very  likely  you  only 
treated  me  as  I  deserved  to  be  treated." 

Claire's  lips  parted,  as  if  she  were  about  to  speak,  but  she 
remained  silent. 

"  You  dismissed  me  very  promptly,  very  haughtily.  As  I 
said,  I  have  no  right  to  complain  of  that,  but  I  do  complain 
of  your  after  treatment  of  me,  and  1  am  so  loath  to  believe 
that  it  was  inspired  by  a  pride  quite  unworthy  of  you  that  1 
feel  that  it  is  only  just  to  you  to  give  you  an  opportunity  of 
telling  me  why  you  have  treated  me  so  cruelly.  What  have  I 
done — beyond  daring  to  love  you — that  merits  such  treat- 
ment?" 

He  had  poured  all  this  out  in  a  kind  of  "  stand  and 
deliver  "  way,  but  it  was  evident  that  he  was  deeply  agitated 
by  her  presence,  by  the  sight  of  the  lovely  face  which  was 
never  out  of  his  dreams. 

Claire  went  very  pale.  "  I  do  not  deny  that  right,  Mr. 
Way  re,"  she  said,  "  and  if  you  insist  upon  an  answer,  I  will 
tell  you  why  my — our — friendship — should  cease." 

"  Tell  me,  please!"  said  Gerald,  curtly. 

"  In  one  word,  then,"  said  Claire,  almost  inaudibly: 
"  What  has  become  of  Lucy  Hawker?" 

Though  he  had  half  expected  this,  Gerald  was  staggered. 
«  You— you  believed  it,  then?"  he  said.  He  was  silent  for  a 
moment,  fighting  with  his  indignation;  then  he  said,  with  a 
forced  calm:  "You  believed  that  I  was  guilty?  Well!"  he 
laughed  bitterly,  "after  all,  it's  not  so  wonderful!  The 
evidence  was  very  strong;  I  left  the  place  the  same  day— and 
yet  surely  there  must  have  been  some  doubt  in  your  mind! 
Couldn't  you,  in  common  charity,  have  given  me  the  benefit 
of  that  doubt?" 

The  appeal  went  straight  to  Claire's  heart,  but  she  tned  to 
steel  herself.  "  I  saw  you  with  her  in  the  park  the  night 
you— you  left  me!"  she  said,  slowly,  painfully. 


310  THE  MISTBESS  OF  COT7RT  REGtfA. 

Gerald  stared  at  her.  "  Well!  I  do  not  care!  The  girl 
came  up  to  me,  mistaking  me  for  some  one  else;  she  was  in 
trouble.  I  comforted  her,  as  I  would  comfort  and  console 
any  helpless  woman,  child,  dog — what  you  will!"  Then  his 
eyes  flashed  and  his  face  grew  crimson.  "  Good  heavensl 
Did  you  think  me  capable  of  uttering  words  of  love  to  you  ons 
moment,  and — and  intriguing  with  a  village  girl  the  very 
next?  Why,  no  one  in  this  wide  world  could  be  such  a 
monster  of  treachery  and  deceit!" 

Claire  had  believed  it;  but  now  she  believed  it  no  longer. 
There  was  truth  in  his  voice,  in  his  flashing  eyes.  A  hot 
wave  of  shame,  remorse,  self-loathing,  swept  over  her.  Oh, 
if  she  had  but  seen  him  before!  Why  had  she  not  sent  for 
him?  Why  had  she  not —  But  what  was  the  use  of  asking 
foolish  questions  now?  There  he  stood,  a  strong  man,  filled 
with  just  wrath  and  indignation,  and  she  was  a  cowering, 
remorseful  woman,  aching  with  love,  and  the  desire  of  for- 
giveness. She  longed  to  throw  herself  into  his  arms,  to  sink 
at  his  feet,  to  plead  for  one  look,  one  word  of  the  old  love  she 
had  cast  away  for  pride's  sake;  but  she  felt  powerless  to  move, 
and  no  word  would  pass  her  lips. 

And  Gerald,  half  blinded  by  his  anger  and  misery,  did  not 
understand  what  was  passing  through  her  heart.  "  Very 
well!"  he  said.  "  You  have  answered  me,  Miss  Sartoris.  It 
only  remains  for  me  to  tell  you  that  you  have  still  some 
justification  for  your  suspicions,  but — "  At  this  moment  the 
door  opened,  and  Grace  ran  in. 

"  Whatever  is  the  matter?''  she  began;  and  then,  at  sight 
of  Gerald,  she  stopped  and  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with 
an  intense  questioning.  Then  she  said;  "You  know  him? 
You  are  friends?" 

"  No,  Miss  Grace!"  broke  out  Gerald.  "  We  were  friends, 
but  Miss  Sartoris  has  withdrawn  her  friendship.  My  meeting 
with  her  here  is  quite  unexpected.  I  came  to  see  you.  I  will 
come  again.  Miss  Sartoris y> — he  turned  to  Claire — "  I  will 
only  add  one  word  to  what  1  have  already  said.  I  left  Eegna 
on  that  day  in  one  of  the  coasting  vessels — the  '  Susan. '  She 
is  on  a  voyage  now,  but  she  may  return  any  day.  The  hour 
she  sails  into  Regna  harbor  my  innocence  of  the  dastardly 
crime  of  which  you  have  deemed  me  guilty,  will  be  clearly 
proved.  Good-day!" 

He  strode  from  the  room,  leaving  the  two  girlo  standing 
there  like  two  leaves  round  which  a  storm  has  been  sweeping, 
There  was  silence  for  a  minute  or  two,  then  Grace  crept  up  to 


THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGNA.  311 

Claim  and  putting  her  hands  on  Claire's  shoulders,  looked  up 
into  her  face. 

"  Claire!"  she  whispered.  "  It  is  you— you  he  loves!" 
There  was  a  pause  as  her  eyes  dwelt  on  Claire's  searchingly; 
then  she  added:  "  And  you  love  Mm!" 

"Yes,"  said  Claire,  wofully.  "  I— I  love  him —  and  I 
have  lost  him!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

GERALD  went  away  from  Arundel  House  fuming.  At  sight 
of  Claire  his  love  for  her  rose  flame-like,  and  devoured  him. 
That  she  should  have  thought  him  guilty  of  such  hideous 
treachery  and  deceit — that  she  should  have  doubted  the  sin- 
cerity of  his  love  for  her,  and  deemed  him  capable  of  bestow- 
ing a  thought  upon  another  woman,  drove  him  mad. 

"  I've  seen  her  for  the  last  time!"  he  said  to  himself;  and 
then  he  groaned;  for,  oh,  how  he  loved  her!  How  beautiful, 
how  queenly*  and  yet  how  sweet  she  was! 

He  loved'  her  better,  more  passionately  than  ever.  Well, 
he'd  go  away.  Directly  he  had  solved  the  mystery  of  Lucy's 
disappearance  he  would  leave  England,  and  never  come  back 
to  it. 

He  was  so  agitated  and  bewildered  that  he  did  not  ask  him- 
self why  Claire  was  living  in  London,  and  why  she  had  con- 
cealed her  address;  and  he  walked  about  the  pretty  streets  and 
commons  of  Streatham  like  a  man  half  demented. 

After  awhile  he  remembered  the  injured  lad  and  his  promise 
to  go  and  see  him.  He  went  round  to  the  village  hospital, 
and  found  the  boy  very  much  better.  While  he  was  sitting 
beside  him  and  talking  to  him  in  that  way  that  children  love, 
Sister  Agnes  came  in.  She  looked  very  pale,  and  even  sadder 
than  she  had  done  the  day  before,  and  she  stopped  short  when 
she  saw  him,  as  if  his  presence  startled  her.  Gerald  felt  again 
the  peculiar  sensation — the  indefinable  interest — which  had 
been  aroused  when  first  he  saw  her. 

"  You  have  come,"  she  said.  "  He  is  very  much  better; 
he  has  been  talking  of  you,  and  been  wishing  to  thank  you." 

She  bent  over  the  child  and  kissed  him,  then  sunk  into  the 
chair  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  bed  to  Gerald.  They  talked 
for  some  few  minutes,  as  much  to  the  boy  as  to  each  other, 
and  presently  the  lad  fell  asleep,  lulled,  perhaps,  by  the 
sister's  softly  placid  voice.  Suddenly,  yet  gently,  Sister 
Agnes  said: 

"  You  are  looking  ill  this  morning;  are  you  ulr 


312  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGNA. 

Gerald  was  rather  startled  by  the  question,  gently  as  it 
put 

"  No,"  he  said;  then  an  impulse,  a  man's  craving  for  «i 
woman's  sympathy,  took  possession  of  him.  "  No,  I'm  not 
ill;  bat  I  am  in  trouble." 

<:  I  am  sorry!"  she  murmured  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  wish — I 
wi»h  that  I  could  help  you.  Do  not  deem  me  presumptuous. 
The  weakest  and  most  insignificant  of  us  can  help — some- 
limes — the  strongest  and  most  self-reliant." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  with  a  miserable  little  laugh,  "  I've  just 
quarreled  with  the  woman  I  love.  I'm  afraid  that  you  will 
think  that  a  trifling  kind  of  trouble;  but  it's  a  very  big  one  to 
me,  and  is  almost  unendurable.  What  is  it  the  poet  says? 
*  To  be  wroth  with  those  we  love  doth  work  like  madness  in 
the  brain.'  I  don't  know  whether  I've  got  it  quite  correctly, 
but  it  just  expresses  what  I  feel." 

"  Perhaps  you  will  make  it  up  and  *  be  friends '  again," 
she  said,  softly,  and  with  a  deep  interest  in  her  voice  and  eyes. 

Gerald  shook  his  head  and  sighed. 

"  I'm  afraid  not,"  he  said.  "  I'm  afraid  I've  seen  her  for 
the  last  time.  I  shall  leave  England  very  soon,  and — I  don't 
know  why  I  tell  you  this,  Sister  Agues,  but  somehow  I  feel  aa 
if — as  if  we  were  not  strangers,  as  if  we  had  known  each  other 
for  a  long  time. 

She  bent  her  head. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,"  she  said,  almost 
inaudibly.  "  I  wish  I  could  help  you." 

He  sighed. 

"  Thank  you — thank  you!  But  no  one  can  help  me,  I'm 
afraid.  It's  just  a  piece  of  bad  luck." 

"  There  is  no  such  thing  as  luck,  chance,"  she  murmured. 
"  *  There  is  a  Divinity  doth  shape  our  ends,  rough-hew  them 
how  we  will.'  We  are  all  in  the  hands  of  a  ruling  Providence 
who  guides  our  weak  and  blundering  steps  to  the  appointed 
end." 

"  Mine  have  been  weak  and  blundering  enough,"  he  said. 
e<  I'm  a  kind  of  waif  and  stray — one  of  those  straws  that  get 
blown  about  the  world  by  every  puff  of  wind." 

"  You  speak  as  if  you  were  alone  in  the  world,"  she  said, 
after  a  pause. 

"  I  am,"  said  Gerald,  rather  sadly.  "  I  haven't  a  relation 
that  I  know  of — " 

"  Your  father — mother?"  she  asked,  with  head  still  bent, 
and  face  hidden  from  him  by  her  veil. 

**  Both  lead.    I  never  knew  them.     I  should  havf  been  a 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  813 

better  man — and  a  happier— if  my  mother  had  been  left  to 
me.  I've  never  heard  a  chum  speak  of  his  mother  without 
feeling  a  pang  of  envy.  But  I'm  boring  you,  sister.  This 
little  chap  sleeps  soundly,  doesn't  he?" 

As  he  spoke,  he  smoothed  the  sheet  under  the  pointed  little 
chin.  In  doing  so  he  let  his  hand  linger  on  the  bed;  it  hap- 
pened to  be  the  left,  and  the  ring  he  wore — the  ring  Claire 
had  found  for  him  in  the  room  of  the  west  wing — shone  con- 
spicuously against  the  whiteness  of  the  counterpane.  The  sis- 
ter's eyes  rested  on  it  absently  enough  for  a  moment;  then 
suddenly  she  bent  forward,  gazing  at  the  ring  as  if  spell- 
bound. 

"  That — that  is  a  handsome  ring  you  wear,"  she  said. 
"  Will— will  you  let  me  look  at  it?" 

"Certainly!"  said  Gerald;  and  he  took  it  off  and  held  it 
out  to  her.  She  took  it  after  a  moment,  and  examined  it. 
He  could  not  see  her  face,  or  its  pallor  would  have  alarmed 
him. 

"  Have  you  had — where  did  you  get  it?  Forgive  me; 
but — "  she  broke  off,  as  if  she  could  not  frame  the  question. 

"  The  ring?  I've  had  it  ever  since  I  was  a  boy,"  he  said, 
easily. 

"  To  whom  did  it  belong?"  she  asked  in  a  subdued  voice. 

"  To  my  father  or  mother;  I  don't  know  which.  The 
people  who  took  charge  of  me  gave  it  to  me,  and,  strange  to 
say,  I  have  kept  it  through  all  my  wanderings  and  vicissitudes. 
I  have  been  hard  up  times  out  of  number,  but  I  never  could 
bring  myself  to  part  with  it.  It  was  a  kind  of  link  with  the 
past—the  only  link,  for  the  rest  of  the  chain  has  disap- 
peared." 

She  laid  the  ring  on  the  bed,  her  face  still  averted. 

"  You  speak  as  if— as  if  there  were  some  mystery  about— 
about  your  birth,"  she  said,  with  calm,  almost  monotonous 
voice. 

"  There  is,"  he  said.  "  I'm  afraid  it  is  a  very  common- 
place one,"  he  added,  as  he  slipped  the  ring  on  his  finger  and 
turned  it  over  thoughtfully. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  your  name?  I  do  Dot  know  it  yet— the 
boy  asked  me — I  could  not  tell  him." 

"  Gerald  Wayre,"  he  said. 

She  neither  moved  nor  spoke,  and  yet  Gerald  felt  as  iJ 
answer  had  in  some  way  affected  her;  perhaps  because  of  her 

"  Well,  I  must  be  going,"  he  said.  "  I  am  glad  the  little 
fellow  is  all  right,  and— and  1  am  glad  to  have  met  you, 


314  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

sister.  Perhaps  " — his  voice  grew  softer  and  full  of  a  certain 
reverence — "  perhaps  we  shall  meet  again." 

"  Yes,"  she  said  in  a  strangely  unemotional  voice.  "  Will 
you  tell  me  where  you  are  going?" 

"  I  am  going  back  into  the  country — to  a  place  called 
Regna."  She  rose,  then  sunk  down  again,  and  her  hands 
clasped  each  other  spasmodically. 

"  I  shall  go  to-morrow  night,  I  think.  But  I  am  not 
going  to  remain  there.  I  shall  leave  England  presently.  I've 
nothing  to  stay  for — now.  Good-bye,  Sister  Agnes." 

She  did  not  rise,  but  stretched  out  her  thin  hand,  and  he 
took  it  and  held  it.  He  could  not  see  her  face,  but  he  fancied 
that  her  hand  trembled,  and  he  felt  vaguely  troubled  and 
moved,  and  he  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it 
reverently.  Her  lips  parted  with  a  deep  sigh;  she  raised  her 
eyes  for  a  moment  and  looked  at  him;  then,  with  a  faint 
"  Good-bye,"  bent  her  head,  and  so  hid  her  face  under  the  veil. 

"  The  ring — his  ring!"  she  murmured,  hoarsely,  as  he  left 
the  room.  "The  name,  my  name!  and  Regna!  Oh,  God! 
deal  mercifully  with  me!  If  the  hope  that  has  arisen  within 
my  heart  is  more  than  a  baseless  dream,  give  me  strength  to 
bear  my  great  joy!"  she  prayed. 

Gerald  felt  all  the  better  for  his  interview  with  Sister  Agnes, 
and  in  a  calmer  state  of  mind  went  round  to  Arundel  House 
the  next  morning.  He  asked  for  Miss  Harling,  but,  in  his 
innermost  heart,  he  hoped  to  see  Claire,  of  course,  and  he  was 
considerably  staggered  when  the  maid  said: 

"  Miss  Harling's  out  of  town,  sir." 

"  Out  of  town?"  echoed  Gerald,  almost  incredulously.  Was 
it  possible  that  she  declined  to  see  him?  he  asked  himself 
bitterly. 

"  Yes,  sir;  she'd  a  letter  from  her  father  directly  after  you 
were  here  yesterday,  and  went  off  early  this  mornm*.  Is 
there  any  message?" 

Gerald  shook  his  head,  and  went  back  to  the  hotel  in  a  state 
of  mind  more  easily  imagined  than  described.  Then  he  went 
up  to  London  to  catch  the  night  mail  for  Downshire. 

The  letter  that  had  arrived  for  Grace  had  surprised  her, 
accustomed  as  she  was  to  her  father's  erratic  movements.  In 
effect  it  said: 

"  Come  down  by  the  eleven  o'clock  train  from  Waterloo  to 
Yeoford,  and  bring  Miss  Sartoris  with  you.  I  have  a  special 
and  important  reason  for  wishing  her  to  accompany  you.  I 
will  meet  you  at  Yeoford," 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  31fl 

Claire  was  at  Arundel  House  when  this  rather  peremptory 
epistle  arrived,  and  she  had  at  first  said  that  it  was  impossible 
she  should  go;  but  Grace  had  declared  that  she  could  not,  and 
would  not,  go  without  her,  and  had  herself  gone  round  to 
Miss  Gover,  and  begged  for  a  holiday  for  Claire.  It  was  not 
difficult  to  get,  for  Miss  Gover  knew  that  the  change  would  do 
Claire  good,  and  was  able  to  fill  her  place  with  a  pupil  teacher. 
Sister  Agnes,  too,  helped  to  persuade  Claire. 

"  You  will  not  be  gone  long,  my  child,"  she  said,  "  and 
you  will  come  back  strengthened  for  your  work." 

So,  at  last,  Claire  yielded,  and  the  two  girls  started.  Grace 
was  not  in  the  best  of  spirits,  and  Claire  was  very  quiet  and 
thoughtful.  She  was  running  away  from  London — perhaps 
from  her  only  chance  of  seeing  Gerald  again.  She  and  Grace 
had  said  very  little  about  him  beyond  those  few  words  which 
Grace  had  uttered  after  Gerald  had  left  the  room,  but  she  had 
told  Claire  of  the  way  in  which  Gerald  had  saved  her  life,  and 
Claire  had  listened  with  downcast  eyes  and  rather  tremulous 
lips. 

She  was  thinking  of  him  when  the  train  reached  Yeoford, 
and  almost  started  when  Grace  said: 

"  Claire,  I  wonder  why  my  father  has  sent  for  us — where 
we  are  going,  and  why  he  so  specially  wanted  you?" 

"  From  sheer  kindness,"  said  Claire. 

Grace  shook  her  head. 

"  Of  course;  1  know  that  he  would  be  glad  to  have  you 
come  with  us.  But  don't  you  remember  what  he  said  in  his 
note  about  a  special  and  important  reason?" 

Claire  smiled. 

"  His  special  and  important  reason  lies  in  his  desire  to  give 
me  a  pleasant  change,  Grace,"  she  said.  "  What  other 
reason  coald  he  have?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Grace,  thoughtfully.  "But  I  soon 
shall,"  she  added. 

Claire  looked  out  of  the  window  dreamily.  How  long  ago 
it  seemed  since  she  had  fled  from  the  Court,  homeless  and 
well-nigh  penniless!  How  often  she  had  traveled  on  the  same 
line,  the  heiress  of  Court  Regna.  And  now  she  was  just  Miss 
Sartoris,  a  teacher,  on  probation,  at  a  national  school! 

At  Yeoford,  Grace,  who  was  looking  out  eagerly,  exclaimed: 

"  Here  is  father!" 

Mr.  Harling  opened  the  carriage  door. 

"  There  are  two  portmanteaus,  father,"  she  began,  as  she 
got  her  things  together  in  preparation  for  alighting.  But  Mr. 
Harling  smiled,  and  pushed  her  gently  back  into  her  seat. 


316  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

"  We  don't  get  out  here,  Grace.  How  do  you  do,  Miss 
Sartoris?  It  was  very  good  of  you  to  come.  I  have  had  the 
portmanteaus  relabeled — " 

"  Not  get  out  here?  Why,  where  are  we  going,  then?" 
demanded  Grace,  opening  her  blue  eyes  to  their  widest. 

Mr.  Harling  smiled,  and  looked  at  Claire  curiously. 

"  Are  you  very  anxious  to  know,  Miss  Sartoris?" 

"  Of  course  she  is!"  broke  in  Grace.  "  Why,  ever  since  we 
got  your  letter  we  have  spent  the  time  asking  each  other  why 
you  sent  for  us,  and  where  we  were  going.  Tell  us,  father!" 

"We  are  going  to  Thraxton — if  Miss  Sartoris  has  no  objec- 
tion." 

Claire  colored  painfully. 

"  To  Thraxton?"  she  echoed. 

Then  she  looked  at  him  questioningly;  but  the  old  gentle- 
man shook  his  head  slightly,  as  if  withholding  the  explana- 
tion. 

"  And  why  Thraxton,  father?"  said  Grace. 

"  Why  not  that  as  well  as  any  other  place,  my  dear?"  he 
retorted,  quietly. 

And  Grace,  shrugging  her  shoulders,  subsided,  remarking: 

"  Few  girls  have  such  a  trying  father  as  mine,  Claire; 
especially  when  he  has  any  mysterious  business  on  hand.  I 
suppose  we  shall  have  to  wait  until  he  wishes  to  explain. " 

54  There  is  a  nice  old  ruined  castle  at  Thraxton,"  he  said, 
mildly,  but  with  a  twitch  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

Claire  said  nothing.  But  she  felt  rather  mean  and  secretive, 
and  her  embarrassment  increased  as  they  neared  Thraxton. 

Ought  she  to  tell  these  good  friends  that  she  had  been  the 
owner  of  the  well-known  Court  Regna  that  lay  just  beyond  the 
place  they  were  going  to?  Once  or  twice  she  almost  made  up 
her  mind  to  lean  forward  and  tell  Mr.  Harling;  but  her  reso- 
lution could  not  be  brought  to  the  sticking  point. 

When  they  reached  the  station,  Mr.  Harling  helped  them 
out,  and  offered  his  arm  to  Claire. 

"  I  have  a  carriage  waiting,"  he  said,  quietly;  and  he  led 
them  to  a  pair-horse  barouche,  the  best  the  best  hotel  could 
turn  out. 

"  Where  are  yon  going,  father?"  demanded  Grace,  rather 
pettishly.  "  We  seem  to  be  driving  right  through  the  town." 

"  We  are,"  said  Mr.  Harling.  "  Lean  back,  and  let  me 
cover  you  up  with  the  rug.  We  are  going  to  a  place  called 
Regna—  " 

Claire  could  not  repress  a  startled  exclamation. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  817 

"  To  Regna?"  she  said.  "  Mr.  Harling,  I—  Oh!  why 
did  I  come?"  And  her  face  flushed,  and  grew  pale  by  turns'. 

"  Because  you  were  kind  enough  to  trust  one  who  desires— 
with  all  his  heart — to  be  a  friend,  my  dear,"  he  said,  impres- 
sively. "  I  knew  that  if  I  wrote  that  we  were  going  to  Regna, 
you — well,  that  you  would  not  come." 

1  No!"  sail  Claire.     "  I— I—    Oh!  if  you  knew!" 

"  Perhaps  I  do  know/'  he  said,  soothiugly.  "  Perhaps  I 
know  more  about  it  than  even  you  do,  my  dear." 

'That— that  I  once  lived  at  the  Court?"  said  Claire, 
amazed. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.     "  And  why  you  left  it. " 

They  had  been  speaking  in  tones  too  low  to  reach  Grace. 
But  Claire's  exclamation  as  she  heard  his  words  attracted 
Grace's  attention,  and  he  touched  Claire's  hand  warningly. 

"  Will  you  trust  me  a  little  longer,  Miss  Sartoris?"  he  said. 
"  I  will  promise  that,  though  you  may  see  cause  for  surprise 
and  even  doubt,  that  I  will  do  nothing  indiscreet  or  prejudicial 
to  your  interests.  I  have  a  reason  for  asking  you  to  accom- 
pany me  to  the  Court — " 

"  The  Court?  Oh,  I  can  not  go  there!  Indeed,  I  can  not 
go  there!" 

"  It  is  too  late,"  said  Mr.  Harling,  with  kindly  decision. 
"  We  are  passing  in  at  the  gates  now.  Be  calm,  my  dear;  you 
have,  I  hope,  I  may  say,  a  friend  with  you  who  will  protect, 
and,  please  God,  right  you." 

Claire  sunk  back,  very  pale  now,  and  trying  hard  to  be 
calm  and  self-possessed.  The  whole  business  was  at  present 
a  mystery  to  her.  Her  mind  was  confused  by  her  unexpected 
presence  at  the  Court — the  Court  of  which  she  was  no  longer 
mistress — and  Mr.  Harling's  evident  acquaintance  with  her 
loss.  And  what  memories — not  only  her  lost  wealth  and 
station — but  of  Gerald — the  familiar  drive  awakened! 

She  trembled  so  much  as  the  carriage  drew  up  and  Mr. 
Harling  helped  her  out,  that  he  stopped  for  a  moment  and 
patted  her  hand  encouragingly. 

"  What!  Where  are  we,  father?"  exclaimed  Grace,  staring 
at  the  house,  and  then  at  them. 

"  At  Court  Regna— Miss  Sartoris's  house,  my  dear,"  he 
replied. 

"  No,  no!"  exclaimed  Claire,  breathlessly.  "  Let  me 
explain.  Oh,  I  can  not  go  in!" 

For  Mr.  Harling  had  led  her  into  the  hall,  and  the  butler 
was  coming  forward  with  surprise  and  pleasure  fighting  for 
mastery  in  his  face. 


318  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA. 

"  Oh,  I — we — didn't  know  you  were  coming  home,  miss!" 
he  gaid.  "  I'm  afraid  the  rooms —  But  I'll  send  for  the 
housekeeper!" 

"  I  am  not  going  to  stay,"  began  Claire,  almost  too  con- 
fused to  speak,  and  not  a  little  moved  by  the  man's  evident 
joy  at  her  return.  But  Mr.  Harling  pressed  her  arm. 

"  I  think  you  will  stay,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone. 

Meanwhile,  Grace  had  looked  about  her  with  mingled  aston- 
ishment and  admiration.  In  the  course  of  the  talk  which  had 
naturally  followed  on  Grace's  discovery  that  Gerald  was 
Claire's  lover,  Grace  had  learned  something  of  Claire's  story; 
but  she  had  not  imagined  that  the  house  which  Claire  had  lost 
was  so  large  and  imposing. 

"  And  this  was  yours,  dear?"  she  exclaimed,  under  her 
breath.  "Oh!  how  could  you  bear  to  lose  it?  And  why  has 
father  brought  us  here?  I  wish  he  would  tell  us.  But  that 
is  the  worst  of  him;  he  can  be  as  secretive  as  a  jackdaw  when 
he  likes!  I  am  simply  burning  with  curiosity  and  trembling 
with  excitement." 

She  whispered  this  as  the  butler  led  them  to  the  small 
drawing-room,  and  quickly  lighted  the  candles.  "  I  will  have 
the  fire  lighted  immediately,  miss,  and  send  a  maid  to  you — " 

"  No,  no!"  said  Claire,  quickly  and  decisively.  "  I  am  not 
going  to  remain!" 

As  she  spoke,  they  heard  a  step  shuffle  across  the  hall,  and 
old  Sapley  entered. 

"  Who  is  this?"  he  demanded  in  his  harsh  voice,  and  peer- 
ing across  the  dimly  lighted  room.  "  Who  is  it?" 

Mr.  Harling  stepped  forward. 

"It  is  Miss  Sartoris,  Mr.  Sapley.  Miss  Sartoris  and  her 
friend,  my  daughter." 

Old  Sapley  stopped  dead  short  and  stared,  and  his  sharp 
eyes  turned  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  surprised  gleam  in 
them. 

"Mr.  Mordaunt!"  he  said  to  the  butler.  "Mr.  Mor- 
daunt;  he  is  in  the  library."  Then  he  turned  to  Claire. 
"  Glad  to  see  you,  Miss  Sartoris.  You  have  come  back  to 
make  some  proposal,  I  suppose?  Or  just  come  to  look  at  the 
old  place,  eh?  Very  pleased  to  see  you.  And  your  young 
lady  friend.  Take  a  chair." 

But  Claire  still  stood,  looking  straight  before  her,  her  face 
pale,  her  brows  knit.  Why,  she  was  asking  herself,  had  these 
kind  friends  subjected  her  to  this  humiliation? 

The  door  opened,  and  Mordaunt  entered.  Even  at  that 
moment  Claire  was  startled  by  the  look  of  his  face;  it  had  the 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  319 

expression  which  was  like  the  shadow  of  despair,  as  if  he  had 
a  presentiment  that  his  luck  was  changing. 

"  Miss  Sartoris!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  forced  smile  of  wel- 
come. "  This  is  a  pleasant  surprise!  When  did  you  arrive? 
Why  did  you  not  let  us  know?  Your  rooms  are" being  pre- 
pared for  you  and  your  friends/'  He  glanced  irom  one  to 
the  other  with  a  simulation  of  pleasant  welcome. 

Claire  raised  her  eyes. 

"  I  came  unexpectedly,  unwillingly,  Mr.  Mordaunt/'  she 
said.  "  I  shall  not  stay — " 

"  Oh!  but,  indeed — "  he  murmured. 

But  his  father  interrupted  him  with  a  harsh  laugh. 

"  What's  all  this  mean?"  he  exclaimed,  sardonically. 
"  There's  some  meaning  in  it — some  trick  or  other!  What- 
ever it  is,  out  with  it!  Miss  Sartoris  might  have  been  wel- 
come enough  a  little  while  ago,  when  we  offered  to  make 
terms.  But  things  have  altered.  Court  Regna  is  hers  no 
longer — " 

"  Pardon  me,'*  said  Mr.  Harling,  smoothly.  "  That  is  a 
strange  mistake  for  you — a  lawyer — to  make,  Mr.  Sapley. 
Let  me  remind  you  that  the  notice  of  foreclosure  has  not  ex- 
pired yet,  and  that  Miss  Sartoris  is  in  her  own  house,  is  sole 
mistress  of  Court  Regna!" 

"  No,  no!"  murmured  Claire,  painfully.  "  Let  us  go. 
Please  let  us  go!  I  surrendered  it  long  ago  to  Mr.  Sapley.'* 

"  I  beg  of  you  to  be  silent — to  leave  this  to  me,  my  dear!" 
said  Mr.  Harling,  quickly,  but  gently.  Then  he  turned  to  the 
old  man. 

"  I  am  right,  am  I  not?" 

Old  Sapley  glared  at  him. 

"  Strictly  speaking,  yes,"  he  said,  with  a  snarl.  "  But 
Miss  Sartoris  gave  up — " 

"  Have  you  any  deed  of  surrender?  No?  Miss  Sartoris  is 
a  woman,  and  was  helpless  and  friendless.  She  is  friendless 
no  longer.  I  have — I  admit,  without  her  knowledge — taken, 
upon  myself  the  honor  of  acting  as  her  friend  and  adviser. 
And  I  say  she  has  a  perfect  right  to  occupy  her  own  house." 

"  Certainly!"  exclaimed  Mordaunt.  "  And  my  father  and 
I  are  delighted  that  she  elects  to  do  so.  We  have  been  living 
here  because  we  thought  it  better  that  the  place  should  not  be 
left  to  care-takers — " 

"  Silence!"  said  old  Sapley.  "  All  this  is  flummery  and 
nonsense!  What  is  the  use  of  her  coming  here  and  playing 
the  mistress,  when  she  knows  that  she  will  have  to  turn  out 
in  a  few  weeks?" 


S20  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  EEGNA. 

"  Why?"  demanded  Mr.  Harling,  smoothly. 

"  Why?"  croaked  old  Sapley.  "  Why?  You  know  well 
enough,  Mr. — Mr.  Harling!  She  can't  pay  off  the  mortgage, 
and  she  is  bound  to  go!'* 

"  Pardon  me!"  said  Mr.  Harling.  "  Miss  Sartoris  is  pre- 
pared to  pay  off  the  mortgage!" 

"  What!"  old  Sapley  gasped,  and  his  eyes  started.  Then 
he  laughed  scornfully.  "  Tell  that  to  the  marines!"  he  said. 
"  Pay  off!"  he  laughed  derisively. 

But  Mordaunt  had  been  watching  Mr.  Harling  closely,  and 
began  to  suspect  the  truth. 

It  would  be  better  to  tell  it  to  your  solicitor,  unless  you 
are  acting  for  yourself — which  is  unusual,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Sapley? 
However,  I  beg  to  give  you  notice  that  Miss  Sartoris  is  ready 
to  meet  your  claims  at  any  moment  you  are  prepared  to 
establish  them.  There  is  the  formal  notice  " — he  placed  a 
paper  on  the  table  near  him — "  and  there  is  a  letter  from  the 
London  and  Westminster  Bank,  stating  that  they  will  honor 
her  check  to  the  amount  demanded,  or  a  much  larger  one!" 
and  he  laid  the  letter  beside  the  paper. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

OLD  Sapley  darted  at  them.  But  when  he  had  got  them  in 
his  claws,  he  looked  at  them  as  if  he  had  lost  the  power  of 
reading.  His  sallow  face  went  livid,  and  his  mouth  opened 
and  shut.  Then  he  uttered  a  cry — a  cry  so  full  of  the  agony 
of  disappointment  and  dismay  that  Claire  could  almost  have 
found  it  possible  to  pity  him. 

As  he  staggered  and  clutched  at  the  table,  Mordaunt  went 
up  to  him,  and  took  the  letters  from  his  hand,  read  them 
carefully,  and  then,  addressing  Mr.  Hading,  caid : 

"  I  understand!" — his  voice  was  scarcely  audible,  and  hib 
words  came  with  a  labored  slowness — "  I  understand!" 

He  turned  to  Claire,  who  stood  regarding  Mr.  Harling  with 
blank  astonishment. 

"  Miss  Sartoris,  you  have  won — you  have  beaten  us!"  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  a  smile  twisted  his  thin  lips. 
'*  Well,  it  is  the  fortune  of  war.  We  were  the  victors  when 
last  we  met;  we  are  now  the  vanquished.  Mr.  Harling  is 
right — you  are  still  mistress  of  Court  Eegna,  and  we  " — his 
face  reddened  with  humiliation  and  rage — "  we  are  inter- 
lopers! We  will  leave  the  house  at  once.  Come,  father!" 
He  laid  his  hand  on  the  old  man's  shoulder. 

Old  Sapley  raised  his  head  slowly,  and  looked  up  at  him 


THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  RECrtfA.  321 

vrith  a  dazed,  uncomprehending  stare.  Then  an  expression 
of  cunning  self-satisfaction  stole  over  his  livid  face,  and  he 
chuckled. 

"  Master  of  the  Court — eh,  Mordy?"  he  mumbled.  "  Mine 
at  last — at  last!  This  is  a  proud  day  for  us,  Mordy.  Mor- 
daunt  Sapley,  Esquire,  M.  P.,  member  for  West  Downshire. 
Mordaunt  Sapley,  Esquire,  of  Court  Regna!" 

They  listened  to  and  looked  at  him  with  a  slowly  growing 
apprehension  and  horror.  Did  he  fail  to  realize  it,  or  liad  the 
shock  of  the  disappointment  driven  him  mad? 

"  What's  she  waiting  for,  Mordy?"  he  demanded,  croak- 
ingly,  and  pointing  a  shaking  finger  at  Claire.  "  Why  don't 
you  tell  her  to  go!  Let  her  go,  Mordy!  She's  a  nobody,  and 
not  fit  for  you!  You'll  marry  a  title  now,  Mordy — " 

Mordaunt  took  the  old  man's  arm,  and  almost  raised  him 
by  force. 

"  Come  away!"  he  said,  harshly. 

Claire  moved  forward  a  step  or  two. 

"  No,  no!"  she  said,  pitifully.     "  Let  him  stay—" 

But  Mordaunt  swung  round  on  her  like  a  wolf  driven  to  bay. 

"  What!"  he  said,  showing  his  teeth,  and  glaring  at  her. 
"  Accept  your  hospitality!  We  have  not  sunk  so  low  as  that, 
Miss  Sartoris!  I  would  rather  die  than  remain  beneath  this 
roof — now  that  it  is  yours!  Reserve  your  pity  for  those  that 
need  it!  We  are  no  longer  your  servants — your  servants!" 
He  laughed  defiantly.  "  We  treat  with  you  as  equals.  We 
leave  the  place  at  once.  Come,  father!"  And,  putting  his 
father's  arm  within  his  own,  he  almost  dragged  him  from  the 
room. 

As  they  went  into  the  hall  a  further  humiliation  awaited 
them.  Servants  know  everything  that  happens  to  their  mas- 
ters and  mistresses  almost  as  soon  as  they  themselves.  Per- 
haps some  one  had  been  listening  outside  the  door— old  Sapley 
had  spoken  loud  enough  to  be  overheard— anyway,  the  hall 
was  full  of  servants,  and  they  stood  and  stared  superciliously 
at  the  father  and  son  as  they  came  out  of  the  drawing-room. 

Mordaunt  glared  at  them. 

"  My  father's  coat  and  hat!"  he  said,  fiercely.  "  Order  a 
carriage!  D— n  you!  why  do  you  stand  and  stare  and 

0'  ' 

*'  Oh  we'll  be  quick,  Mr.  Mordaunt,"  said  the  butler, 
etung  into  retaliation.  "  It's  the  first  order  of  yours  we've 
executed  willingly.  Mr.  Sapley's  tog?..  James,  and  look 
sharp!" 

n 


322  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COUKT  REGNA. 

Mordaunt  snatched  them  from  the  footman,  and  put  them 
on  the  shaking,  shrunken  figure. 

"  Where  are  we  going,  Mordy?  I  don't  want  to  goF 
whimpered  old  Sapley. 

"  Hold  your  tongue!"  snarled  Mordaunt. 

The  servants  melted  away  from  the  hall,  and  presently,  in 
an  incredibly  short  time,  indeed,  the  carriage  came  up  to  the 
door,  and  Mordaunt  almost  carried  his  father  to  it.  As  the 
porter  closed  the  door  he  heard  a  sharp  cry — a  wail  of  disap- 
pointment and  despair  from  the  old  man. 

The  three  left  in  the  drawing-room  looked  at  each  other  in 
silence  for  a  moment  or  two;  then  Claire  went  up  to  Mr. 
Harling. 

"  Ob,  I  can't  understand  it — realize  it  all — yet!"  she  said, 
her  voice  trembling  with  emotion.  "Is  it  true?  Have  you 
paid  all  this  money  for  me?  But  I  can  not  take  it!  You 
must  know  that  I  am  very,  very  grateful!  It  seems  wonder- 
ful, incredible,  that  any  one  could  be  so  generous!  But,  oh,  I 
could  not  take  it!  You  must  not  ask  me!" 

Mr.  Harling  took  both  her  hands  and  led  her  to  a  chair. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  gently,  as  a  father  speaks  to  his 
daughter,  "  you  shall  tell  me  all  this  to-morrow,  after  you 
have  rested  and  realized  the  change  that  has  come  over  your 
fortunes.  And  let  me  assure  you  that  you  will  pain  me  very 
much,  very  much  indeed,  if  you  allow  your  pride  to  rob  me 
of  the  greatest  satisfaction  my  money  has  hitherto  afforded 
me.  You  are  too  kind-hearted  to  do  that — isn't  she,  Grace?" 

"  Yes,"  exclaimed  Grace;  "  and  too  sensible.  My  dear 
Claire,  you  don't  know  my  father  yet,  or  you'd  know  that 
when  he  has  made  up  his  mind  to  do  a  thing,  not  all  the 
women  in  the  world  would  prevent  him.  Besides — father,  I 
must  say  it! — he  is  so  disgustingly  rich  that  I  suppose  this 
money  is  a  mere  nothing — " 

"Hush,  hush!  my  dear,"  pleaded  the  old  man,  as  if  h« 
were  ashamed.  "  It  won't  quite  ruin  us,  my  dear  Miss  Sar- 
toris.  And,  to  tell  you  the  plain  truth,  and  to  make  a  clean 
breast  of  it,  I've  done  what  I've  done  to  further  my  own  ends; 
and  you'd  better  wait  to  learn  what  they  are  before  you  utter 
a  word  of  gratitude.  Gratitude!  It's  I  who  ought  to  be  grateful, 
as  you'll  discover  presently.  And  now  we  won't  say  a  word 
more  about  it — to-night,  at  any  rate.  Just  forget  that  you 
ever  left  the  Court,  and  try  and  persuade  yourself  that  we  are 
your  guests  for  a  day  or  two — as  we  will  be,  if  you  will  have 
us.  Oh,  dear!  It  sounds  very  rude,  but  I  am  tremendously 
hungry!" 


THE   MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGUTA.  383 

Almost  as  he  spoke,  the  butler  appeared. 

"  Dinner  will  be  served  in  an  hour,  miss,"  he  said,  as 
gravely  and  in  as  matter-of-fact  a  tone  as  if  Claire  had  never 
been  absent.  "  Your  rooms  are  ready,  sir." 

It  was  a  strange  meal,  that  dinner.  They  were  almost  too 
excited  to  eat;  and  yet  the  servants,  by  their  manner,  were 
evidently  trying  to  carry  out  Mr.  Harling's  idea,  and  persuade 
Claire  that  she  had  never  for  an  hour  ceased  to  be  the  mis- 
tress of  the  Court.  That  there  were  rejoicings  in  the  servants' 
hall  at  the  sudden  change  of  affairs  was  demonstrated  by  the 
buzz  of  excitement  which  now  and  again  rose  from  that 
locality;  and  at  intervals  the  staid  butler  permitted  his 
unbounded  satisfaction  with  Claire's  return  to  display  itself 
in  his  countenance. 

The  three  sat  and  talked  late  into  the  night,  but  Mr.  Har- 
ling  would  not  permit  his  coup  de  thedtre,  his  beautiful  little 
plot  for  the  destruction  of  the  Sapleys,  to  be  discussed.  He 
would  talk  of  anything  but  that — and  Gerald.  It  is  scarcely 
necessary  to  say  that  he  was  carefully  avoided. 

At  last  Mr.  Harling  insisted  upon  their  going  to  bed;  but 
even  when  they  went  upstairs,  the  two  girls  found  themselves 
in  one  room  and  still  eager  to  talk. 

"  Oh,  Claire,  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  on  my  head  or 
my  heels!"  said  Grace,  sinking  at  Claire's  feet  on  the  thick, 
fleecy  rug  before  the  fire,  and  leaning  her  arms  upon  Claire's 
knees.  "  And  yet  it  seems  so  perfectly  right  and  fitting  that 
you  should  be  queening  it  here.  You  look  the  mistress  of  this 
place,  vast  and  grand  as  it  is.  And  to-morrow  you  are  going 
to  show  me  how  much  vaster  and  grander  it  is  than  even  I 
imagine  it,  aren't  you?  Well,  it  makes  me  happy  to  think 
of  it.  And  you,  Claire,  dear;  1  should  like  to  know  exactly 
how  you  feel." 

Claire  laid  her  hand  on  the  golden  head. 

"  I  am  too  bewildered  to  feel  anything  but  gratitude — " 

"  You  are  not  to  s|)eak  of  that!"  broke  in  Grace,  quickly. 

'  Are  you  happy,   quite?    No!"    she  looked   up  at  Claire 

aearchingly,   "not    quite!    Ah!    I    know,    dearr'    and  she 

sighed.     "  You  are  thinking  of  Mm  !"    The  color  rose  to  her 

face,  and  she  looked  aside.     "  Claire,  what  will  you  do?" 

"  What  can  I  do?"  murmured  Claire.  "  Ah,  what  can 
I  do?" 

"  You  have  been  very  wicked,"  said  Grace.  '  You  have 
wronged  the  noblest,  truest,  best  of  men."  Her  breath  came 
fast,  too  fast  for  her  words.  Claire  looked  down  at  her, 

"  Grace  1"  she  whispered. 


334  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REG1U. 

Grace  flushed  to  her  white  neck. 

"  Yes,  dear!"  she  said,  answering  the  question  put  in  that 
one  word.  "  Yes,  it  is  true.  I — I  loved  him.  Wait! 
Listen!  Do  not  misunderstand!  I  said  '  loved.'  I  loved 
him  with  all  my  heart;  I  would  have  given  all  the  world  if  he 
could  have  loved  me,  but — but  I  knew  he  could  not,  even 
before  I  knew  that  his  heart  was  given  to  you,  and — and — I 
have  fought  with  my  love  for  him  until  I  have  torn  it  out  of 
my  heart.  And  yet  there  is  love  for  him  there  still — a  sister's 
love,  Claire.  There  is  nothing  I  would  not  do  for  Gerald 
Wayre.  I  could  die  for  him  as  he  was  ready  to  die  for  me — I 
would  go  to  the  end  of  the  earth,  just  to  win  an  hour's  hap- 
piness with  him.  Oh,  how  am  I  to  make  you  understand?" 

Claire  bent  down  and  kissed  her. 

"  You  are  more  worthy  of  him  than  I  am,  Grace!"  she 
said,  almost  with  a  moan.  "  You  have  never  wronged  him, 
misjudged  him.  While  I!  Oh,  I  ache  and  burn  with  shame 
when  I  think  of  the  way  I  have  treated  him.  No  wonder  that 
he  paid  me  back  with  scorn  and  contempt." 

*'  Not  that,  dear,"  said  Grace,  quietly. 

"Yes,  yes,  and  a  hundred  times  yes!"  said  Claire,  scorn- 
fully; "  and  it  was  only  what  I  deserved.  I — I  could  almost 
wish  that  he  had  struck  me  the  other  day — I  could  have 
borne  a  blow  better  than  the  look  in  his  eyes,  the  words  which 
keep  ringing  in  my  ears  and  torturing  me!" 

Would  you  do  anything  to  win  his  forgiveness?" 

"  Anything!*'  echoed  Claire,  passionately.  "  Is  there  any- 
thing I  would  not  do?  Think  of  the  extent  of  the  wrong  I 
did  him!  And — and  he  was  poor  and  I  was  rich  then!  And 
he  must  have  thought  that  I  treated  him — that  I  was  proud 
of  my  money.  Oh,  Grace,  Grace,  when  I  think  of  it  all,  I 
feel  as  if  I  should  go  mad!" 

"You  are  rich  still;  he  is  poor  still,"  whispered  Grace. 
"  Go  to  him,  Claire." 

Claire  started,  and  the  blood  rose  to  her  face  with  maidenly 
shame;  then  she  grew  pale  again  and  a  light  glowed  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Yes!  I  could  go  to  him.  But  I  shall  never  see  him  again. 
I  feel  that.  He  looked  it  when  he  left  me  the  other  day." 

"  You  must  go  to  him  before  it  is  too  late  !"  said  Grace, 
earnestly. 

"  Before  it  is  too  late?" 

"  Yes.  Oh,  my  dear,  don't  you  see?  He  is  still  considered 
guilty  by  some — will  be  considered  guilty  until  he  can  prove 
his  innocence.  And  he  will  be  able  to  do  that  when  thsi 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  IlEGNA.  3x!5 

ship,  the  'Polly,'  the  *  Susan,'  or  whatever  is  its  ridiculous 
name,  comes  back.     If  you  wait  till  then—    Ah,  well!" 

Claire  held  her  breath. 

"  Oh,  Grace,  how  I  love  you  for  thinking  of  that!  Oh, 
where  is  he?"  And  she  began  to  pace  the  room. 

Grace  got  a  little  frightened. 

"In  bed,  where  you  and  I  ought  to  be!"  she  said;  "and 
you  shall  go  now.  I  shall  stay.  Oh,  yes,  I  will,  for  I  know 
what  you  will  do;  you  will  walk  up  and  down  like  a  tiger  all 
night,  Claire.  I  won't  leave  you  to-night.  Let  me  stay  with 
you."  And  she  put  her  arms  lovingly  around  her.  "  Why, 
your  heart  is  beating  like  a  sledge-hammer,  and  you  are 
shaking!  Oh,  dear!  no  wonder  he  loves  you  when  you  love 
him  like  this!" 

******* 

Gerald  got  down  to  Thraxton  the  next  morning  and  walked 
to  the  cottage  at  Regua.  Although  the  news  of  Miss  Sar- 
toris's  return  had  passed  round  Eegna  like  a  flash  of  light- 
ning, there  was  no  one  about  to  tell  him,  and,  as  he  was  cook- 
ing his  breakfast,  he  was  thinking  of  her  sadly.  After 
breakfast  he  would  run  over  to  the  inn  and  ask  for  tidings  of 
Mr.  Harling — for  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  Gerald 
had  no  suspicion  that  Grace  and  Claire  were  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. 

He  had  made  his  breakfast,  and  was  toasting  a  piece  of 
bread  on  the  end  of  a  fork,  when  he  saw  some  one  pass  the 
window.  It  was  a  woman's  figure,  but  he  had  not  time  to 
recognize  it,  and  was  turning  the  slice  of  bread,  when  there 
came  a  knock  at  the  door. 

He  got  up  and  opened  it,  with  the  toast  in  his  hand,  and 
almost  dropped  the  latter  in  his  amazement.  For  there  stood 
Claire.  Claire,  herself! 

"  Can  you  tell  me  if  Mr.  Wayre— "  she  had  begun,  but 
there  she  stopped,  crimson  and  white  by  turns,  and  stood  with 
downcast  eyes,  speechless. 

"  Claire— Miss  Sartoris!"  he  said— gasped,  rather.  "  You— 
you  want  to  see  me?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  painfully  catching  her  breath. 
They  told  me  that  you  had  stayed  here—    I— I  wanted   to 
know — "     Then  her  courage  crept  back  to  her.      '  Yes;   I 
wanted  to  see  you." 

He  held  the  door  open  wider,  and  driw  back. 

"  Won't  you  come  in?"  he  said.  How  commonplace,  how 
grotesque  the  familiar  phrase  sounded ! 

She  walked  in,  and  he  put  a  chair  for  her,  but  she  did  not 


326  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA. 

take  it,  and  stood  before  him  with  downcast  eyes,  the  loveliest 
picture  he  had  ever  gazed  on.  At  last  she  raised  her  eyes  and 
looked  at  him,  and  the  look  made  his  heart  leap  within  his 
bosom  and  the  fork  to  shake  in  his  hand. 

"  Mr.  Way  re,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  scarcely  above  a 
whisper,  and,  oh,  so  humble,  so  meek,  "  I — I  have  come  to 
ask  you  to  forgive  me!" 

Gerald  stared  at  her,  and  repeated  the  words  slowly. 

"  To— to  forgive  you?" 

"  Yes,  ab,  yes!  I  have  wronged  you — cruelly.  No  one  has 
ever  been  so — so  wickedly  mistrusted  and  cruelly  wronged. 
J — I  know  it  now.  I  know  how  vile  and  baseless  was  my  sus- 
picion 1"  She  could  not  go  on  for  a  moment,  and  Gerald  said, 
stammered: 

"  You  have  heard — " 

"  I  have  heard  nothing  but  what  you  told  me!"  she  said, 
eagerly,  passionately.  "  I  knew  when  you  spoke,  at  the  first 
word  you  uttered,  that — that — that  you  were  innocent.  And 
1  let  you  go,  thinking — thinking  that  I  still  suspected  you!" 

"  You  believe  1  am  innocent?"  he  stammered.  "  Without 
proof?  Thank  God  for  that!  Miss  Sartoris,  this  makes  me 
very  happy!" 

Claire's  heart  sunk  at  the  "  Miss  Sartoris." 

"  And — and — you  forgive  me?"  she  faltered. 

"  Forgive  you?"  he  said,  earnestly.  "  There  is  nothing  to 
forgive.  Rather,  I  ought  to  ask  your  pardon  for — for  behav- 
ing like  a  brute  the  other  day.  Yes;  and  I  do  ask  your 
pardon,  Miss  Sartoris,  most  humbly!" 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no!"  she  cried — and  yet  in  a  whisper.  "  It 
is  I  who  behaved  like — like  a  brute!" 

"  No,  no!"  he  said,  eagerly.  "  You  were  right  to  suspect 
me.  After  all,  it — it  was  only  natural!" 

"  Natural?"  she  said,  with  a  little  pant.  "  It  was  un- 
natural, and — and  wicked." 

"  Never  mind,"  he  said.  "  It  is  all  over  now.  And  you 
came  to  tell  me  this  before  the  '  Susan  '  returned!  Ah,  that 
was  like  you,  Miss  Sartoris.  Thank  you,  thank  you!  I  can't 
tell  you  how  grateful  I  am.  I  am — almost — a  happy  man 
now.  Poor  Lucy!  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  I  am  trying  to 
find  out  what  became  of  her.  But  I  won't  bother  you  with 
that.  What  can  I  say  to  show  you  how  grateful  I  am  to  you 
for  condescending  to  come  to  me  like  this?  Such  goodness!" 

He  floundered  on,  his  face  Hushed,  his  hand  pushing  his 
hair  from  his  forehead — in  the  way  she  loved — and  he  did  not 
see — oh,  how  blind  is  poor  man  where  woman  is  concerned!— 


THE  MISTEESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  387 

that  he  had  only  to  take  her  in  his  arms,  without  a  word — just 
take  her  in  his  arms. 

"  I — I  will  go  now!"  she  said.  "  I — I  hope  that  we  shall 
be  friends  again — Mr.  Wayre?" 

So  humble  still!  So  full  of  pleading,  the  sweet  voice!  And 
yet  he  did  not  see! 

"Friends.  Ah,  yes,  if  you  will  let  me  be  one!"  he  said, 
gratefully.  "  I  shall  not  be  here  long;  but  while  I  am 
here — I  am  glad  you  have  come  back  to  the  Court.  How 
funny  it  is  that  you  should  know  the  Harlings!  Did  they  tell 
you  how  we  met?  I  am  painting  Miss  Grace's  picture;  when 
I've  finished  that,  and  got  to  the  bottom  of  poor  Lucy 
Hawker's  case,  I  shall  be  off.  You  know  my  old  love  of  ad- 
venture?" 

"  I  know,"  she  said,  almost  inaudibly.  "  I  hope — you — 
will  be  happy —  I  will  go  now. "  She  turned  to  the  door. 
He  followed  her,  and  opened  it. 

"  To  come  to  me  like  this!"  he  murmured,  almost  to  him- 
self. "  It  is  the  sweetest,  the  noblest  thing!  Oh,  I  can't 
realize  it!" 

"  Yes,"  said  poor  Claire  in  a  whisper;  "  and — and — to 
come  for  nothing!" 

He  looked  at  her — her  face  went  almost  white,  then  flamed. 
Down  went  the  fork  which  he  had  unconsciously  held  all  the 
time,  and  out  went  his  hand  upon  her  arm. 

"  Miss  Sartoris!  Claire!  Stop!  You — you  shall  not  go!" 
For,  of  course,  she  made  to  fly  now;  a  woman  always  wants 
to  fly  at  the  first  intimation  of  pursuit.  "No!  you  shall  not! 
Claire,  look  at  me!  Speak  to  me!" 

CHAPTER  XLI. 

GERALD'S  hand  tightened  on  Claire's  arm — so  much  so  that 
he  almost  hurt  her;  but  she  did  not  mind;  indeed,  it  would 
have  given  her  a  subtle  kind  of  joy  to  suffer  pain  at  his  hand, 
she  had  wronged  him  so! 

"  Claire,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  hurried  and  broken, 
"  why  did  you  look  at  me  like — like  that?  Is — oh,  can  it  be 
possible  that —  Claire,  forgive  me.  I  must  be  mad!  I 
must  be  deceiving  myself  as  I  did — before." 

She  did  not  offer  to  withdraw  her  arm,  but  stood,  her  heart 
beating  wildly,  her  eyes  downcast.  But  suddenly  she  lifted 
them  and  looked  at  him  again,  and  again  her  look— half 
pleading,  half  tender— and,  ah!  so  wistful!— shot  through  kirn 
*'  like  a  warm  dart,"  as  Owen  Meredith  says. 


328  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

"  Claire,"  he  said,  after  he  had  caught  his  breath,  "  I  love 
you!  I  can't  help  it!  I  must  tell  you!  I  have  tried  to  for- 

fet  you,  to  harden  my  heart  against  you,  but  it  is  of  no  use. 
love  you,  and  I  shall  always  love  you  till  I  die.  I  told  you 
all  this  before,  and — and  you  gave  me  your  answer;  but  I  tell 
it  you  again,  for  the  last  time." 

She  turned  her  face  to  him  pityingly,  wistfully. 

"  Not — the  last  time — Gerald!"  she  whispered  in  a  voice 
that  thrilled  through  him.  "  You  must  tell  it  to  me  again 
and  again;  because — because  I  shall  never  be  tired  of  hearing 
it!" 

It  was  almost  too  much  for  him,  the  suddenness  of  his  joy, 
the  infinite  witchery  of  the  tender  smile  that  stole  over  her 
lovely  face. 

"  Claire!  Oh,  my  love,  my  love!"  he  breathed,  and  he 
caught  her  in  his  arms  and  pressed  her  to  him,  so  that 
indeed  she  could  scarcely  whisper  his  name. 

"  Tell  me  once  more,  once  more,  dearest!"  he  said.  "  I — 
I  can  scarcely  believe  it.  Just  say,  '  Gerald,  I  love  you!' ' 

"Gerald,  I  love  you!" 

"  '  And  I  will  be  your  wife!'  ' 

She  hid  her  face  on  his  breast.    "  And  I  will  be  your  wife!" 

"  Claire!" — after  a  pause,  after  he  had  kissed  her  lips,  her 
hair — "  this  isn't — isn  t — what  do  you  call  it — reparation? 
Ah,  no,  1  know  you  wouldn't  deceive  me.  You  love  me, 
dearest,  really  and  truly?  Good  heavens,  it  seems  so  wonder- 
ful; why  should  you?" 

*'  Because — you  are  Gerald!  That  is  all!"  she  murmured. 
"  Gerald — let  me  hide  my  face  for  shame;  don't — don't  look 
at  me  just  yet.  There,  turn  your  face  away,  dearest."  She 
put  her  hands  to  his  face  caressingly,  and  averted  it.  "  I — T — 
Oh,  how  can  1  say  it —  I  came  to  tell  you!  I  came  to  ask 
you — to  ask  you  to  take  me!  I  could  not  have  gone  away;  I 
could  not!  I  should  have  fallen  at  your  feet  and  prayed  you 
to  have  pity  on  me!" 

"Claire!"  he  gasped. 

"  Yes!  Think,  dearest!  I  had  wronged  you  so  cruelly, 
and  T  loved  you  all  the  time!  And  my  pride  and  jealousy  had 
nearly  wrecked  my  life,  and  there  was  no  pride  left  in  me,  and 
no — no — ah,  no  self-respect.  Gerald,  shall  I  kneel  to  you 
now?  Shall  I?  Shall  I  say  what  I  meant  to  say,  if  you  had 
not — not  guessed  and  asked  me?  I  should  have  clung  to  you 
and  cried,  '  Gerald,  I  love  you — I  have  wronged  you.  I  have 
been  a  poor,  miserable  little  fool,  with  my  pride  and  my  sus- 
picion. But  I  loved  you  all  the  time.  Have  pity  on  me* 


THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGKA..  328 

Take  me  for  your  wife.  You  shall  do  what  you  like  with  me, 
bully  me — beat  me — anything!  Only  let  me  live  with  you 
and  try  and  show  you  what  a  woman's  love  means!'  ' 

She  was  sobbing  now,  half  hysterically;  and,  he  half  fright- 
ened, and  trembling  almost  as  much  as  she,  soothed  her  with 
a  lover's  whispered  word,  the  lover's  touch. 

"  Hush,  hush,  dearest!  These  are  not  words  for  you — for 
you,  my  queen — it  is  I  who  should  kneel."  He  sunk  on  his 
knees  and  drew  her  hand  to  his  face.  She  stooped  and  raised 
him. 

"  No,  no!    Here,  on  my  heart,  Gerald!"  she  panted. 
******* 

"  And  you  haven't  had  your  breakfast!"  she  exclaimed,  a 
moment  or  two  later. 

"  Breakfast?    No,  not  yet.     Have  you?" 

She  shook  her  head,  and  tried  to  smooth  the  hair  hia 
caresses  had  ruffled. 

"  No;  I  came  out — the  house  seemed  stifling,  and  I  was 
restless — to — to  inquire  after  you." 

"  Have  some  with  me!"  he  said,  joyously. 

"  Shall  I?"  she  said,  wistfully,  shyly. 

"  Why  not?"  he  responded.  "  See,  I'll  make  some  more 
tea — it's  got  cold." 

"  And  I'll  do  the  toast;  let  me,  Gerald!'3 

"  There's  some  eggs  somewhere,"  he  exclaimed,  rushing 
about,  laughing  without  knowing  it.  "  Where's  the  butter? 
Am  I  awake  or  dreaming?  Stand  still  a  moment  and  let  me 
look  at  you." 

She  drew  herself  up  and  let  his  eyes  wander  over  her. 
"  Yes,  it  is  you!"  he  said,  with  a  long  breath.  "  Now,  don't 
r,orne  near  me,  or— or  we  shall  never  get  any  breakfast. 
There's  the  bread— and— oh,  here  are  the  eggs,  I  remember. 
Oh,  yes,  after  all  I  must  be_  dreaming,  don't  you  know?^  J 


fiiVJAAI-lC,      MU.V*.      v*"  t»«£2  J A  m 

x  ^  wUUvi  give  you  something  more  substantial  to  eat,  and 
quickly,"  she  said,  with  a  laugh.  And  the  laugh  was  like 
sweet,  wholesome  music  in  the  little  room. 

They  got  breakfast— after  several  interruptions  and  inter- 
ludes—and both  discovered  that  they  were  hungry.  t  was 
scarcely  proper,  perhaps,  for  these  two,  alone,  to  be  seated 
opposite  each  other— like  man  and  wife.  But  they  had  no 
thought,  and  very  little  care,  for  the  proprieties  at 
moment.  He  had  got  his  love,  his  life's  angel  at  last,  and  all 
the  rest  didn't  matter.  And  she-well,  if  all  the  world  cried 


330  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

shame,  she  would  not  have  cared.     He  was  hers— hers — her 
very  own,  and  nothing  should  come  between  them  again. 

They  talked  after  awhile,  and  Claire  told  him  of  the  Sap- 
leys'  nice  little  plot,  and  Mr.  Harling's  goodness.  Gerald  was 
amazed,  but  understood  in  a  moment. 

"  Good  heavens!"  he  exclaimed.  "  The  villains!  Well,  1 
might  have  suspected  it.  And  that  dear  old  fellow!  But—- 
but, Claire  " — his  brows  knitted  perplexedly — "  can  you — can 
you  accept?" 

Claire  leaned  her  head  on  her  hand.  "  All  night  I  have 
been  asking  myself  that  question,"  she  said.  "  It  was  hard 
to  answer.  At  one  moment  I  felt  that  I  could  not,  at 
another  that  perhaps  I  ought,  that  I  could,  perhaps,  take  it 
as  a  loan.  But  now  I  haven't  to  decide,  thank  Heaven!" 

"  You  haven't?    Why  not?"  he  asked. 

She  blushed  and  lowered  her  eyes,  then  raised  them  and 
looked  at  him  with  a  woman's  complete  surrender. 

"  Because  there  is  some  one  else  who  decides  everything— 
everything — for  me  now,  and  I  leave  it  to  him.  It  is  delight- 
ful!" 

Interruption  and  interlude. 

******* 

"  Well,  1  don't  know  what  to  say.  For  one  thing,  of 
course,  I  should  be  glad  if  you  hadn't  a  penny  in  the  world, 
because  then  I  should  have  to  work  for  you.  Think  of  it, 
dearest!  But  that's  selfish,  1  know." 

"  You  couldn't  be  selfish,  if  you  tried,"  she  remarked,  with 
solemn  decision. 

"Oh,  couldn't  I?"  he  retorted.  "You  wait  and  see! 
Well,  we'll  talk  it  over  with  him.  They  are  the  nicest,  most 
warm-hearted  people  in  all  the  world.  I  am  fond  of  him  as 
if  he  were  my  father,  and  of  Grace  as  if  she  were — " 

He  caught  a  sudden  expression  in  her  faca 

"  What's  the  matter  now?"  he  asked. 

"  Say,  '  sister,'  Gerald!"  she  said. 

"  I  was  going  to  say  sister,"  he  said,  innocently. 

She  nodded.  "  I  don't  mind  your  loving  her  as  a  sister,'* 
she  said,  very  quietly. 

"  Why,  of  course  not!"  he  exclaimed.  "  You  like  her,  too, 
don't  you?" 

"  Yes — like  a  sister  also,"  she  said.  "  Gerald,  you — you 
must  come  up  to  the  Court  and  tell  them." 

"  After  breakfast,"  he  nodded.     "  Some  more  tea,  please!" 

Then  suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  their  wonderful  happiness, 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  131 

Claire  remembered  where  they  were.  She  put  her  cup  down 
and  looked  at  him  pitif  ully. 

"  Oh,  Gerald !    That  poor  girl— Lucy !' ' 

His  face  grew  grave.  Yes/'  he  said.  "  I've  got  to  carry 
that  business  through.  You  must  help  me,  dearest." 

"  It  seems  so  heartless  to  be  so — so  happy  hi  this  house!" 
she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

He  got  up  and  comforted  her,  of  course. 

;<  We  are  doing  her  no  wrong,  dearest,"  he  said.  "Our 
joy  can  not  injure  or  insult  her.  But,  come,  we  will  go  at 
once.  Let  me  put  your  hat  on  for  you.  Which  is  the  right 
side,  or  doesn't  it  matter?  There!  Oh,  Claire,  how  lovely 
you  are!  Would  to  God  I  were  more  worthy  of  you!" 

"  Don't  say  that,  Gerald,"  she  almost  implored.  "  Never 
say  that  again.  It — it  makes  me  think  of  the  way  I  have 
treated  you,  and — and  that  hurts  me!"  and  she  clung  to  him 
with  a  little  shudder. 

They  went  out  and  walked  demurely  enough  up  the  street, 
for  the  Regna  folk  were  about  and  eager  to  welcome  her;  but 
when  they  got  into  the  lonely  lanes,  their  hands  stole  together 
and  clasped,  and  they  went  along  like  two  children  sweet- 
hearting. 

Mr.  Harling  and  Grace  were  on  the  steps  looking  for  them, 
and  Grace  turned  rather  pale  for  a  moment  as  she  saw  them 
coming  along  together;  but  it  was  only  for  a  moment,  and  it 
was  her  last  time  of  showing  any  emotion  at  sight  of  Gerald. 

"Oh,  here  you  are!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Harling.  "Grace 
declared  that  you  had  bolted  back  to  London  and  the  school; 
but  I  knew  you  were  too  sensible  to  do  that.  How  are  you, 
lad?"  and  he  wrung  Gerald's  hand.  "  You  two  have  found 
each  other,  then,  eh?"  he  asked,  looking  at  them  shrewdly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Gerald,  drawing  Claire's  arm  within  his.  "  I 
have  found  her  never  to  lose  her  again,  I  hope." 

"  That's  all  right,  then,"  cried  the  old  gentleman,  chuck- 
ling and  rubbing  his  hands.  "  Come  into  breakfast." 

"  We've— we've  had  our  breakfast!"  faltered  poor  Claire* 
going  rosy-red. 

Mr.  Harling  laughed  with  keen  enjoyment 

"  Of  course  you  have!  Nice  behavior  of  one's  hostess,  I 
must  say!  To  run  away,  and  leave  her  guests  to  breakfast  by 
themselves!" 

"  No,  you  are  the  host  here,"  said  Claire  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Don't  you  make  such  a  ridiculous  mistake,  my  dear 
young  lady  I"  he  retorted.  "Court  Regna  is  yours,  and  no 
one  else's.  I  hope  Gerald  has  persuaded  you  to  look  at  the 


332  THE  MISTRESS  oF  COURT  REGNA. 

matter  in  a  sensible  way.  I'm  not  so  sure  that  you  are  so 
much  indebted  to  me  as  you  think.  My  lawyer  has  got  to 
examine  the  Sapleys'  claims,  and  I  shouldn't  be  at  all  sur- 
prised when  he  does  so,  if  he  finds  that  roguery  has  been  at 
work,  and  that  a  good  slice  will  have  to  be  deducted.  That 
will  leave  you  something  of  an  income;  and  the  estate,  prop- 
erly managed,  will  clear  itself  in  time.  That  is,  of  course,  if 
you  insist  upon  repaying  me.  But  I'm  not  so  sure  that  you 
will — presently.**  He  nodded  and  smiled  rather  mysteriously. 
"  But  don't  let  us  worry  about  money  on  such  a  day  as  this! 
Let  us  be  happy — " 

"  We  certainly  sha'n't,  if  we  talk  about  money,"  inter- 
rupted Grace,  who,  with  her  arm  round  Claire's  waist,  was 
going  round  the  hall,  looking  at  the  portraits  and  curios. 

"No.  I  propose — if  I  may  venture  to  do  so — that  Miss 
Sartoris  takes  us  all  for  a  drive  and  shows  us,  something  at 
least,  of  her  '  kingdom  by  the  sea.'  '• 

"  The  dog-cart;  and  you  shall  drive.  Claire  is  a  splendid 
whip,  sir,"  said  Gerald. 

Claire  blushed  and  laughed. 

"Very  well,"  she  said.  "  We  will  take  a  holiday  to-day; 
but  to-morrow  I — I  must  go  back  to  London.  I  mustn't  run 
away  from  them  without  a  word,  must  I?  Miss  Gover — oh! 
you  don't  know  how  kind  she  has  been  to  me!  And  Sister 
Agnes — I  must  go  and  tell  her — everything!" 

"  Sister  Agnes?"  echoed  Gerald,  with  astonishment.  "  Do 
you  know  her?" 

"  I  live  with  her — did  live  with  her,"  said  Claire  in  a  low 
voice.  "  She  has  been — ah!  I  can  not  tell  you  what  she  has 
been  to  me.  No  mother  could  have  been  more  loving- 
more — "  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

Gerald  stared  at  her. 

"Why — Sister  Agnes!  A  white-haired  lady,  with  sad- 
looking  eyes?  But,  of  course,  it  must  be  the  same!  Why,  I 
know  her!  I  met  her — oh!  I  must  tell  you  all  about  it!" 

He  did  so,  leaning  over  the  back  of  the  dog-cart,  as  Claire 
drove  them  through  the  familiar  lanes,  and  across  the  downs, 
from  whence  they  could  look  down  on  the  sea  stretching  away 
to  Labrador. 

"  I  don't  wonder  at  your  loving  her!"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice.  "  I  can't  tell  you  the  impression  she  made  on  mo.  I 
can't  explain  it  to  myself.  It  was  as  if — oh !  I  can't  explain? 
Claire,  dearest,  do  you  think  she  would — " 

"  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say,"  she  murmured.     "  I 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COUET  REGNA.  33? 

think  I  know  your  thoughts  before  you  utter  them,  dear. 
You  think  she  might  come  down  here!'"' 

'*  Yes.  How  would  it  be  if  I  ran  up  to  town,  and  per- 
suaded her  to  come  back  with  me?" 

"  You  might,"  said  Claire,  "  if  you  told  her  1  wanted  her 
very  much." 

"  I'll  try  it,"  he  said.  "  I'll  go  up  to-morrow.  And  I'll 
go  and  see  that  Miss  Gover.  Fancy  your  teaching  in  a  school, 
Claire!  Doesn't  it  sound  like  a  dream?" 

"  And  you  must  make  her  promise  to  come  down  in  the 
holidays.  Ob,  Gerald!"  And  she  swung  round  with  an  eager 
Hush  on  her  face,  "  if  we  could  get  her  down  here — to  the 
school,  you  know!  The  mistress  has  talked  of  retiring  for 
ever  so  long.  Miss  Gover  would  be  so  happy  in  the  country, 
and — ah!  it  would  be  so  delightful  to  have  her  near  us!" 

They  made  a  long  drive  of  it,  and  Mr.  Harling  was  duly 
impressed  by  the  extent  and  wealth  of  the  estate. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  to  Claire,  rubbing  his  chin,  "  you  ought  to 
be  able  to  repay  me — if  you  want  to." 

After  lunch  Mr.  Harling  and  Grace  disappeared,  and  Gerald 
and  Claire  went  out  alone.  As  if  they  were  drawn  there  by  a 
common  impulse,  they  went  to  the  chapel,  and  stood  beside 
the  tomb,  looking  down  at  it,  hand  in  hand,  with  love  hover- 
ing over  them. 

"  Do  you  remember?"  he  whispered — as  if  sh°.  had   for- 

S)tten!  "  I  fell  in  love  with  you  that  first  morning,  Claire! 
o  you  remember  the  sketch?" 

'Yes,"  she  said;  "  where  is  it?  Oh!  I  hope  you  have 
kept  it,  Gerald!" 

"  Yes;  here  it  is!"  he  said.  And  he  drew  the  pencil 
portrait  from  his  pocket  and  gave  it  her. 

Her  face  crimsoned,  and  she  uttered  a  little  cry  of  surprise 
and  delight. 

"Oh!  how  wicked  of  you!  And — and  how  sweet  of  yon! 
But  it  isn't  like  me — it's  too  flattering.  Gerald,  I  must 
have  it!" 

"  I  think  not!"  he  said,  decisively.  "  Ask  me  for  the  half 
of  my  kingdom,  and  it  is  yours;  but  not  this!  Stay!  I'll 
make  a  bargain  with  you.  I'll  give  it  you  when — when  you 

five  me  the  original.     It  shall  be  my  wedding  present,  Claire, 
sha'n't  be  able  to  buy  you  gold  or  gems;  but  this  is  the 
most  precious  thing  I've  got,  and  I'll  give  it  you  to  show  yon 
how  much  I  love  you." 
Interlude  and  pause. 
It  was  the  only  allusion  he  mad*  to  his  poverty,  his  mien- 


334  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGffA. 

ority  in  the  matter  of  wealth  and  position,  but  Claire 
noticed  it. 

"  Gerald,"  she  said,  creeping  very  close  to  him,  and  taking 
the  edge  of  his  coat  timidly,  "  if — if  you'd  rather,  I— I 
should  give  up  the  Court  and  go  back  to  the  school,  or — or — " 

"  Let  me  work  for  you!"  he  said,  eagerly.  Then  he  shook 
his  head.  "  Dearest,  it  is  like  you  to  propose  it,  but  I've  no 
right  to  demand  such  a  sacrifice.  Besides,  I  am  not  ashamed 
of  your  wealth  or  my  poverty.  If  I  were  rich  and  you  were 
poor,  you  would  not  let  that  come  between  us?" 

"  No,  no,  no!"  she  said.  4<  I  would  marry  you  if  you 
were  King  Cophetua,  and  I  were  the  Beggar  Maid!  How 
clever  you  are  to  put  it  that  way,  Gerald!" 

They  sat  long  over  dinner,  and  Gerald,  of  course,  found  it 
hard  to  tear  himself  away.  Saying  "  good -night,"  in  the 
semi-darkness  of  one  of  the  recesses  in  the  hall,  was  a  pro- 
longed business;  but  at  last  he  whispered  the  last  words, 
coaxed  for  his  last  kiss,  and  went  homeward  suffused  with  love 
and  happiness. 

It  was  a  beautiful  night,  with  the  moon  at  the  full,  and 
Gerald,  naturally  enough,  considering  his  condition,  was  loath 
to  go  in.  He  thought  he  would  climb  up  to  the  cliff  before 
doing  so,  and  turning  off  from  the  road,  just  outside  the  vil- 
lage, took  the  narrow  footpath. 

As  he  stopped  for  a  moment  to  light  his  pipe,  he  saw  a  man 
coming  along  the  downs  at  right  angles  with  the  path.  The 
moon  was  partially  obscured,  and  for  a  moment  or  two  Ger- 
ald did  not  recognize  him;  but  presently,  when  the  light  was 
clearer,  he  saw  that  it  was  Mordaunt  Sapley. 

He  wore  a  thick  pea-jacket,  and  its  collar  was  turned  up  so 
that  it  nearly  hid  the  wearer's  face;  and  yet  it  was  by  no 
means  a  cold  night.  He  was  walking  quickly,  and  yet 
cautiously,  and  he  glanced  round  now  and  again  watchfully. 

Gerald  thought  the  dress  and  manner  curious,  and,  being 
now  naturally  suspicious  of  Mordaunt,  drew  back  under  the 
shadow  of  the  cliff,  and  waited  until  Mordaunt  had  gone  on 
ahead.  Then  cautiously  and  noiselessly  he  followed  him. 

OHAPTEE  XML 

MORDATTNT  had  taken  his  father  to  their  did  house,  which, 
perhaps,  with  a  vague  presentiment  of  some  such  reverse  as 
this  which  had  befallen'  him,  he  had  left  in  the  hands  of  a 
care-taker.  Before  they  had  reached  the  house,  Mordaunt 
realized  the  grewsome  fact  that  his  father's  mind  had  given 


THE  MISTRESS   OF  COURT  REGKA.  335 

way  under  the  shock.  He  was  almost  mad  himself;  for  he 
knew  that  his  career — in  Downshire,  at  any  rate— was  over; 
his  ambitious  projects  blighted  and  destroyed.  Even  if  Claire, 
and  Mr.  Harling,  and  Gerald  were  silent,  the  servants  would 
not  hold  their  tongues.  In  a  few  hours  the  story  of  the  Sap- 
leys'  discomfiture  would  be  spread  far  and  wide.  He  would 
not  dare  to  show  his  face  in  public;  if  he  ventured  to  address 
a  meeting  he  would  be  hooted  from  the  platform. 

His  career  was  ended,  and  he  recognized  the  fact  at  once. 
The  shock  was  hard  to  bear,  but  another  sentiment  besides 
disappointment  lessened  and  deadened  it.  He  had  been  beaten 
in  the  matter  of  Court  Regna — his  luck  was  changing;  how 
about  his  dread  secret  buried  beneath  the  sand  below  the  cliff? 
He  paced  his  room — the  room  adjoining  his  father's,  where 
the  old  man  lay  chuckling  and  muttering  under  the  delusion 
that  he  had  still  got  the  Court  within  his  clutches — paced  it 
like  a  tiger  newly  caught  and  trapped,  and  faced  the  situation. 
There  was  only  one  thing  to  be  done.  To  buy  that  accursed 
bundle  and  Jenks'  silence;  to  get  together  the  money  he 
and  his  father  possessed,  and  leave  England.  He  would  be 
very  rich — the  Court  mortgage  sum  alone  was  very  large — in 
another  t  country  he  could  begin  to  climb  the  social  ladder 
again. 

But  the  first  thing  was  to  get  Jenks  out  of  the  way.  He 
had  put  off  the  meeting,  night  after  night,  for  reasons  which 
can  easily  be  understood.  He  dreaded,  loathed,  having  to  look 
at,  touch  the  bundle,  to  have  to  speak  of  the  dead  girl.  But 
he  could  put  it  off  no  longer.  It  was  too  late  that  night,  but 
he  would  go  to-morrow. 

He  threw  himself  on  his  bed  as  the  dawn  crept  into  the  win- 
dow, but  he  could  not  sleep.  Court  Regna  gone,  his  life's 
ambition  wrecked;  and  all  in  a  few  hours!  As  he  tossed  from 
side  to  side,  he  cursed  Claire,  Gerald,  even  his  father,  with 
the  impotent,  unreasoning  fury  of  a  thwarted  villain.  The 
next  day  he  looked  into  his  affairs,  and  took  steps  to  realize 
all  the  property  he  and  his  father  possessed,  and — bitterest 
task  of  all — sent  in  his  resignation  of  the  candidature  to  the 
local  committee.  He  gave  for  an  excuse  for  his  withdrawal 
the  fact  of  his  father's  sudden  and  dangerous  illness. 

He  was  occupied  the  whole  day;  and  eat  nothing;  keeping 
himself  going  by  occasional  drinks  of  stiff  brandy  and  water; 
and  at  night,  with  burning  head  and  whirling  brain,  he  stole 
out  of  the  house,  and  stealthily  made  his  way  to  the  cliff.  As 
he  stole  along  the  familiar  path  he  paused  now  and  again,  and 
caught  his  breath  and  shuddered.  He  could  almost  fancy 


336  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA. 

that  the  wraith  of  the  murdered  girl  was  gliding  along  by  his 
side;  and  once,  as  a  sea-gull  flew  over  his  head,  shrieking,  he 
had  hard  work  to  suppress  a  scream,  for  it  seemed  to  him  as 
if  it  were  Lucy's  voice  as  it  had  risen  in  its  piteous  cry  at  the 
moment  he  thrust  her  over. 

A  light  was  burning  in  Jenks'  hut,  and  he  crept  up  to  the 
window  and  peered  in.  The  man  was  sitting  by  the  fire 
^moking,  and  a  devilish  longing  jumped  into  Mordaunt's  heart. 
'How  if  he  stole  in  behind  the  man  and —  But  he  put  it  away 
from  him  with  a  shudder,  and  tapped  at  the  window. 

Jenks  rose  and  opened  the  door,  and  did  not  show  the  least 
surprise  at  the  visit. 

"  Oh,  here  you  are,  Mr.  Mordaunt,"  he  said,  stolidly.  "  I 
thought  as  how  you'd  turn  up  one  o'  these  nights.  Come  in 
and  sit  down,  Mr.  Mordaunt.  Sorry  I  haven't  anything  to 
offer  you." 

Mordaunt  stood  and  looked  at  him,  and  then  round  the  hut 
furtively. 

"  I  have  no  time  to  waste.     Have  you  done  as  I  told  you?" 

"  Yes;  and  had  to  stand  no  end  o'  drinks  on  the  strength  of 
that  old  rich  uncle  o'  mine.  I  could  leave  here  to-morrow — 
to-night  for  that  matter — and  they  wouldn't  think  it  queer." 

"  Good!"  said  Mordaunt.  "  I  have  brought  the  money. 
Give  me,"  he  moistened  his  lips  and  looked  round  with  a 
shiver,  "  give  me  the — the  bundle." 

"  Eight  you  are,  sir,"  said  Jenks,  cheerfully.  "  Where's 
the  money,  sir?  Notes  or  shiners?" 

"  Notes,  notes!"  replied  Mordaunt,  impatiently.  "  Did 
you  think  I  could  get  so  large  a  sum  in  gold,  man?" 

"  Notes,"  said  Jenks,  doubtfully.  "  Hem,  don't  fancy 
them,  somehow.  Easy  to  trace,  ain't  they?" 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  wear  out  my  patience!"  Mor- 
daunt interrupted.  "  Give  me  the  cursed  thing,  and  let  me 
go.  I  will  meet  you  at  Liverpool  to-morrow  and  see  you 
off — not  that  I  am  afraid." 

"  Oh,  no;  only  just  in  the  way  of  kindness,  o'  course!"  said 
Jenks,  placidly.  "  I'll  get  the  bundle." 

He  dragged  a  sea-chest  from  the  wall,  and,  with  an  old 
wood  chopper,  lifted  the  flooring  boards,  and  slung — flung — 
the  bundle  on  the  table. 

Mordaunt  started  back  with"  a  low  cry  and  an  oath,  and 
stood  looking  at  the  things  as  if  they  were  alive  and  were  cry- 
ing, "  Murderer!  Murderer!" 

Jenks  stared  at  him.  "  You  look  bad,  Mr.  Mordaunt,"  he 
said.  "  Blest  if  you  don't  look  wnss  than  you  did  when  you 


THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT  REGffA.  33? 

chucked  her  over  the  cliff,  or  when  you  were  piling  the  sand 
atop  of  her  down  there  on  the  sand  slip!" 

Mordaunt  shuddered. 

"  Curse  you!  hold  your  tongue!"  he  said,  hoarsely,  aud 
looking  round  fearfully.  "  Do  you  want  any  one  to  hear  you 
shout — " 

"Oh,  I  ain't  afraid,"  said  Jenks.  "But  I  begs  your 
pardin;  I  ain't  given  to  whispering,  you  see.  Howsumever, 
there's  the  bundle,  and  I'm  off  to-morrow  the  first  train. 
Now  for  them  notes,  Mr.  Mordaunt.  Lord,  to  think  of  my 
happenin'  to  be  in  that  part  o'  the  beat  that  night,  and  chanc- 
ing to  see  you  chuck  Lucy  over — she  cried  out  awful,  didn't 
she? — should  make  a  rich  man  o'  me!  Wonderful,  the  ways 
o'  Providence,  ain't  they,  Mr.  Mordaunt?" 

Mordaunt  took  some  notes  from  his  pocket-book  and  some 
gold  from  his  purse. 

"You  understand!"  he  said,  thickly.  "You  will  keep 
your  promise?  But  you  dare  not  come  back!  Remember 
what  I  told  you!  You  are  an  accessory  after  the  fact,  and 
run  the  same  risk  as  I  do!" 

*'  Eight  you  are,  Mr.  Mordaunt.  I've  been  thinking  that 
over,  and  I've  been  tempted  more  than  once — especially  since 
Mr.  Wayre  came  back — to  turn — what  do  you  call  it? — 
Queen's  evidence,  and  I'm  not  sure  that  it  wouldn't  be  my 
best  plan." 

Mordaunt  waved  his  hand  impatiently;  then  stretched  it 
out  toward  the  bundle. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it?"  he  asked  Jenks,  as 
serenely  as  if  he  were  referring  to  a  piece  of  old  sail-cloth. 

Mordaunt  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  white  and  haggard  face. 

"  Throw  it  in  the  Black  Pool,"  he  said.  There  was  a  pool 
near  the  jetty,  formed  by  a  circle  of  rocks,  which  held  the  tide 
for  a  depth  of  ten  or  twelve  feet. 

Jenks  shook  his  head. 

"  Better  burn  it,"  he  said.  "  Burn  it  here;  I'll  make  up 
the  fire." 

Mordaunt  paused,  irresolute.  He  would  have  to  stand  by 
and  see  the  bundle  untied,  to  watch  while  it  was  gradually 
consumed;  it  was  beyond  his  power  of  endurance. 

"No!"  he  said.  "  I— I  can  not!  It  will  sink,  with  stones, 
to  the  bottom  of  the  pool." 

He  took  up  the  bundle;  it  shook  in  his  hand. 

"  Open  the  door!"  he  said,  hoarsely.  Jenks  lurched  round 
the  table,  but  before  he  could  reach  the  door  it  opened,  and 
Gerald  stood  on  the  threshold. 


338  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  3EGNA. 

Mordaunt  dropped  the  bundle,  and  uttered  a  shriek.  Jenki 
started  back,  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  and  with  stolid 
sang-froid,  said: 

"Too  late.  I'm  blest  if  it  ain't  Mr.  Wayre!  No,  Mr. 
Mordaunt,  I  shouldn't  take  your  money."  He  wagged  his 
head  toward  the  notes  and  gold.  "  I  t-old  you  just  now  that 
I  should  turn  Queen's  evidence,  that  it  wasn't  no  use  asking 
me  to  destroy  that  there  bundle." 

^  .Mordaunt,   mad  with    rage  at  the  man's  duplicity    and 
change  of  front,  caught  up  the  ax  and  dashed  at  him. 

Gerald  flung  himself  between  them  and  caught  Mordaunt'a 
arm  just  in  time  to  avert  the  blow  from  Jenks,  and  gripped 
Mordaunt  tightly.  Despair,  near  akin  to  madness,  will  endow 
a  man  with  the  strength  of  a  fiend.  Though  he  was  not 
nearly  so  strong  as  Gerald,  Mordaunt  wrestled  with  him  with 
desperate  persistence,  and  once  Gerald  was  underneath.  A 
pair  of  pistols  hung  over  the  fire-place,  and  Jenks  snatched 
one  down  and  fired  it  outside  the  door,  then  he  came  in  and 
stood  philosophically  looking  on  at  the  fight. 

At  last  Gerald  mastered  the  frenzied  man,  and,  pinning 
him  to  the  ground  with  his  knee,  looked  over  his  shoulder  at 
Jenks. 

"  Give  me  a  rope,  anything,  to  tie  his  hands!" 

"  No,  no!"  gasped  Mordaunt.     "  I — I  surrender!" 

"  Get  up!"  said  Gerald,  sternly. 

Mordaunt  shuffled  to  his  feet,  and  leaned  against  the  man- 
tel-piece, panting  and  shaking,  and  eying  the  two  men  like  a 
trapped  wolf. 

"  That — that  man  is  a  liar!"  he  gasped.  '*  A  liar  and — 
and  a  vulgar,  common  scoundrel.  He  enticed  me  here  with — 
with  a  cock-and-bull  story  about  Lucy  Hawker." 

"Silence!"  said  Gerald.  "  I  was  outside.  I  heard  every 
word;  I  followed  you  here.  My  God,  and  it  was  you  who 
killed  Lucy!  Silence!  Remember  that  every  word  you  say 
must  be  repeated.  You  killed  Lucy." 

Mordaunt  glared  at  him  sideways.  "  Keep  your  threats 
for  those  who  fear  them,"  he  said,  thickly.  "  I  am  in  your 
power;  what  do  you  intend  to  do?" 

"  Hand  you  over  to  the  police,"  said  Gerald,  grimly.  He 
turned  to  Jenks.  "  Jenks,  go  down  and  bring  up  a  constable. 
I  will  wait  here. " 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir!"  said  Jenks,  cheerfully,  and  he  went  out. 

"  He  will  escape,"  said  Mordaunt,  between  his  teeth:  but 
almost  as  he  spoke,  Jenks  came  back,  accompanied  by  a 
couple  of  coastguards  who  bad  heard  the  pistol-shot. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  339 

"  I  charge  this  man,  Mordauut  Sapley,  with  the  murder  of 
Lucy  Hawker,"  said  Gerald,  sternly.  "You  will  take  him 
to  the  police  station  at  Thraxton.  "We  will  go  down  to  the 
village  and  get  a  vehicle." 

The  coastguards  stationed  themselves  on  either  side  of  Mor- 
daunt.  He  leaned  against  the  mantel-shelf  and  pointed  to  his 
cap,  and  one  of  the  men  picked  it  up  for  him  and  threw  it  to 
him.  He  put  it  on,  and  turned  to  the  glass,  and  in  doing  so 
stealthily  whipped  the  remaining  pistol  from  its  place  and 
thrust  it  in  his  breast.  The  action  was  so  rapidly,  so  smoothly 
done  that  no  one  noticed  it,  for  they  were  all  talking  together 
in  an  excited  undertone. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Gerald;  and  with  Mordaunt  between  them, 
the  two  coastguards  led  the  way. 

"  Glad  you  came  up,  Mr.  Wayre,"  began  Jenks;  but  Gerald 
stopped  him. 

You  had  better  hold  your  tongue  until  you  appear  before 
the  magistrates,"  he  said,  significantly. 

"  Eight  you  are,  sir!"  assented  Jenks,  and  then  followed 
the  prisoner  in  silence. 

As  they  drew  near  the  village,  lights  began  to  flash  about 
the  houses,  and  they  heard  the  murmur  of  voices;  and  at  the 
head  of  the  street  they  were  met  by  a  crowd  of  fishermen  and 


women. 
« 


What's  up?"  demanded  one,  raising  his  lantern,  and  the 
others  gathered  round.  "  Why,  it's  Mr.  Mordaunt!  What- 
ever's  happened  to  'un?" 

"  It's  a  bad  business,  mates!"  said  one  of  the  coastguards. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jenks.  "  We've  found  the  man  as  run  off 
with  Lucy  Hawker.  It  was  Mr.  Mordaunt  here." 

A  cry  of  astonishment  ran  round  the  crowd. 

"  Mr.  Mordauut!  What's  he  done  with  her?  Mr.  Mor- 
daunt! Why,  it  ain't  possible!"  They  pressed  forward; 
their  eager  faces  shining  in  the  light  of  the  lanterns. 

"  You'll  know  presently,  so  I  may  as  well  tell  you,"  said 
Jenks.  "  He  pitched  her  over  the  cliff  the  night  she  was 
thought  to  have  run  away.  Pitched  her  over  the  west  cliff 
and  buried  her  afterward  in  the  sand  slip  just  below." 

A  cry  of  horror  rose  from  the  group,  followed  by  a  groan 
and  a  yell  of  rage. 

Mordaunt  shrunk  nearer  the  coastguards  and  clutched  one 

of  their  arms. 

"  It's— it's  a  lie!"  he  gasped. 

"  He  says  it's  a  lie,"  said  a  man.        Answer,  Jenksl 
truth— the  truthl" 


340  THE   M1STKESS  OF  COURT  KEGNA. 

"  It's  true  enough/'  said  Jenks,  stolidly.  "  I  see  him. 
He  came  up  to-night  and  offered  me  money — " 

"  A  lie!"  shrieked  Mordaunt. 

The  men  talked  together  excitedly,  and  swayed  to  and  fra 
for  a  moment  in  wild  confusion;  then  one  cried  out: 

"  Mates,  it's  easily  proved.  Let's  go  and  see.  Bring  him 
along,  you  chaps!" 

"No,  no!"  said  Gerald.  "He  is  my  prisoner!  1  order 
him  to  be  taken  to  Thraxton!" 

But  he  felt  that  he  was  powerless  to  oppose  them. 

"Don't  you  interfere  with  we,  Mr.  Way  re!"  growled  one 
of  the  men.  "  We'll  prove  the  truth  of  it.  Bring  him  along, 
or  we'll  tear  him  from  'ee!" 

Eesistance  was  useless,  and  Gerald  signed  his  consent.  Mor- 
daunt clung  to  the  nearest  coastguard.  "  No,  no!"  lie. 
shrieked.  "  I  will  not  go!  I — I  demand  protection!  Take 
me  to  the  police — 

A  sullen  roar  arose,  and  a  fisherman  sprung  forward. 

"  Bring  him  along,  or  we  will!"  he  said,  with  an  oath. 

Surrounded  by  the  excited  mob,  which  increased  at  every 
step,  Mordatiut  was  led  down  the  street  and  round  the  rocks 
to  the  strip  of  sand.  By  the  time  it  was  reached,  he  was 
almost  incapable  of  standing,  arid  one  of  the  guards  grabbed 
him  by  the  arm,  and  so  supported  him. 

Jenks  measured  the  slip  with  his  eye. 

"  There's  the  spot!"  he  said. 

A  man  had  gone  into  a  cottage  and  snatched  up  a  spade, 
and  he  began  to  dig.  But  the  crowd  could  not  wait,  and 
some  of  them  went  down  on  their  knees  and  tore  at  the  sand 
with  their  knives.  Presently  one  of  them  uttered  a  low  cry; 
he  had  discovered  a  portion  of  a  woman's  dress.  The  spec- 
tators echoed  the  cry  with  a  moan — a  moan  of  terrible  sus- 
pense and  excitement — and  the  man  with  the  spade  worked 
more  carefully. 

As  each  shovelful  of  sand  was  thrown  up,  Mordaunt  shud- 
dered, and  clung  more  tightly  to  the  coastguard,  and  pres- 
ently, as  a  deep'sob  rose  from  the  crowd,  followed  by  a  yell, 
and  then  an  awful  silence,  he  sunk  on  to  the  ground. 

"  It's  her!  It's  Lucy!  Oh,  my  God!"  shouted  a  woman, 
throwing  her  arms  above  her  head. 

Screams  and  oaths  rent  the  air;  and  Gerald,  fearing  that 
Mordaunt  would  be  lynched,  torn  from  limb  to  limb,  flung 
himself  in  front  of  him. 

"  Stand  back!"  he  said.  "  He  is  in  the  hands  of  the  law! 
Justice  will  be  done!  Stand  backl" 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA.  34; 

As  he  spoke,  half  a  dozen  men  threw  themselves  upon  him 
and  pinioned  him,  and  one  man — it  was  the  young  fisherman, 
William— sprung  upon  Mordaunt,  and  dragged  him  to  the 
open  grave. 

"Look  at  your  work,  you  devil!"  he  cried,  hoarsely. 
"  Look  at  it!" 

And  he  forced  Mordaunt's  face  down.  The  wretched  man 
screamed  with  terror,  and  wound  himself  round  the  legs  of 
his  captor. 

"Spare  me!  Spare  me!  Don't  kill  me!"  he  shouted. 
"I'll  confess!  I'll—  Don't  kill  me!"  And  he  writhed 
upon  the  sand  like  a  wounded  snake. 

The  man  spurned  him  with  his  foot. 

"Get  up,  you — you  murdering  dog!"  he  said,  hoarsely. 
"  We  won't  kill  'ee!  We'll  leave  that  to  the  hangman.  Stand 
back,  mates!  Let  no  one  touch  him!  Leave  him  to  Mr. 
Wayre;  he'll  see  that  justice  is  done  by  'un!  Oh,  Lucy!  Oh, 
my  God!"  And  he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

Gerald  sprung  forward  and  stood  right  across  Mordaunt. 

"  You  hear?"  he  said,  for  the  crowd,  with  white,  wolSsh 
faces,  still  threatened.  "  William's  right!  Leave  him  to 
the  law!  It  will  avenge  poor  Lucy!" 

The  crowd  groaned  sullenly. 

"  Let's  bury  him  with  her!"  said  one  in  a  hoarse  whisper; 
but  Mordaunt  heard,  and  a  scream  of  agony  rose  from  his 
white  lips.  They  saw  him  turn  over  writhingly,  and  thrust 
his  hand  in  his  breast;  then  a  sharp  report  rang  out,  and  a 
tongue  of  flame  shot  forth,  and,  with  another  shriek,  he 
rolled  over  on  his  face. 

There  was  an  intense  silence  for  an  instant — a  silence  that 
seemed  more  hideous  than  the  din  which  had  preceded  it. 
Gerald  sprung  aside;  then  bent  over  the  prostrate  tigure.  The 
crowd  gathered  round,  and  one  of  the  coastguards  knelt  and 
placed  his  hand  on  Mordaunt's  heart. 

"  He's  dead!"  he  said,  solemnly.     "  He's  shot  himself!" 

The  line  of  white  faces  and  staring  eyes,  above  which  the 
moonlight  fell  placidly,  started  back,  and  a  cry  of  disappoint- 
ment rose. 

"  Curse  him— he's  done  us,  after  all!"  said  a  voice.  "  He'a 
give  us  the  slip!" 

Gerald  held  up  his  hand. 

"No!"  he  said,  solemnly.  "He  stands  before  the  Grenf 
Judge,  my  men,  and  He  will  do  justice!" 


THE  MISTKESS  OF  COURT  KEGUA. 


CHAPTER   XLIII. 

THE  scene  at  the  double  inquest  was  a  terrible  one. 
Women  wept  and  shrieked,  and  men  groaned  and  clinched 
their  hands  tightly  as  Jenks  told  his  story.  It  all  seemed  s<. 
clear  now,  and  they  were  amazed  that  their  suspicions  hac' 
never  been  directed  toward  Mordaunt.  Many  of  them 
remembered  having  seen  him  and  Lucy  together,  but  his 
duplicity  had  been  so  fiendishly  perfect  that  he  had  deceived 
them  all. 

The  jury  wanted  to  bring  in  a  verdict  of  murder  against 
Mordaunt,  and  consign  him  to  a  suicide's  grave,  and  it  was 
with  difficulty  that  the  coroner  could  persuade  the  twelve 
stern,  white-faced  men  to  return  the  usual  verdict.  The  only 
unmoved  person  in  the  court  was  Jenks.  He  gave  his 
evidence  in  his  usual  stolid  fashion,  every  now  and  then 
fingering  and  looking  down  at  his  empty  pipe,  and  he  was  not 
even  surprised  when  the  coroner  had  him  arrested  as  an 
accessory  after  the  fact.  It  may  be  added,  in  parenthesis, 
that  he  was  equally  unmoved  when,  later  on,  the  judge  sen- 
tenced him  to  seven  years'  penal  servitude  for  his  passive 
share  in  Mord aunt's  dastardly  crime. 

When  the  painful  scene  was  over,  and  Gerald  made  his  way 
from  the  stuffy  room  in  which  the  inquest  had  been  held,  sur- 
rounded by  a  crowd  eager  now  to  congratulate  and  make  a 
hero  of  him,  he  became  suddenly  faint  and  queer.  Gerald  was 
an  exceedingly  strong  man,  as  we  know;  but  he  had  gone 
through  a  great  deal  lately,  and  the  scene  of  the  inquest,  fol- 
lowing upon  the  still  more  terrible  one  on  the  sands,  had,  in 
common  parlance,  got  upon  his  nerves. 

He  got  away  from  the  crowd  at  last,  and  went  home  feelinr 
sick,  and,  to  his  surprise,  was  actually  sick.  Mr.  Harling  ana 
Claire,  coming  in  search  of  him,  found  him  white  and  shaning, 
and  in  a  state  of  collapse;  and  though  Gerald  tried  to  make 
light  of  his  condition,  Mr.  Harling  insisted  upon  his  going  to 
bed  and  sending  for  the  doctor. 

"  It's  alt  nonsense,"  said  Gerald.  *'  I'm  just  a  little  upset, 
and  shall  be  all  right  presently.  I  want  to  go  back  to  the 
Court  with  you  and  Claire;  I  don't  want  to  go  to  bed." 

But,  of  course,  he  had  to  go;  and  the  doctor,  when  he  came, 
blandly  but  firmly  insisted  upon  his  remaining  there. 

Claire,  of  course,  wanted  to  stay  and  nurse  him;  but  Gerald 
would  nok  hear  of  this,  and  a  woman  volunteered  to  act  in 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  :U3 

that  capacity— strange  to  say,  the  woman  who  had  been  most 
violent  against  him  when  he  had  first  come  back  to  Regna 
and  had  been  surrounded  by  an  accusing  mob.  But  Claire 
spent  a  great  deal  of  the  day  beside  him,  holding  his  hand  in 
that  silence  which,  to  persons  in  their  happy  condition,  speaks 
so  much  and  so  sweetly. 

Perhaps  Gerald's  sudden  illness  was  a  blessing  in  disguise, 
for  it  kept  all  our  friends  from  dwelling  upon  the  terrible 
events  of  the  last  few  days.  The  whole  place  was  in  excite- 
ment, not  only  on  account  of  the  murder,  but  over  the  return 
of  Miss  Sartoris,  and  the  destruction  of  the  cunning  plot  by 
which  the  Sapleys  had  sought  to  obtain  Court  Regna  and  the 
estates. 

Old  Sapley  was  mercifully  unconscious  of  his  son's  crime 
and  its  dramatic  punishment,  and  would  remain  ignorant  to 
the  end  of  his  life.  The  doctors  pronounced  him  incurably 
insane,  and  he  had  been  removed  to  a  private  asylum,  where, 
surrounded  by  comfort,  he  spent  the  time  in  going  over 
imaginary  accounts,  and  informing  the  doctors  and  nurses, 
and  any  one  who  would  listen  to  him,  that  he  was  the  master 
of  Court  Regna,  and  that  Mr.  Mordaunt  Sapley,  who  was  the 
member  for  the  county,  was  his  son. 

Claire  and  Mr.  Harling  went,  at  Grace V  request,  to  see 
him.  The  visit  was  a  painful  one  to  them,  but  not  to  him, 
for  he  had  no  recollection  of  them;  and  told  them  the  story  of 
his  triumph  with  imbecile  chuckles  and  gloating  enjoyment. 

"  My  son's  a  clever  man,"  he  said.  "  There's  no 'knowing 
what  he'll  rise  to.  He's  in  the  House,  you  know,  and  they'll 
be  sure  to  give  him  office.  He'll  be  in  the  Cabinet  some  day, 
and  he'll  marry  a  noblewoman.  Shouldn't  be  surprised  if 
they  made  him  a  peer.  He'll  be  Lord  Sapley — no,  that  ain't 
good  enough— why  shouldn't  he  take  the  old  title,  the  title 
that  went  with  the  place  that's  his  now?  Yes,  he  shall  be 
Earl  Wharton— Lord  Wharton,  of  Court  Regna." 

Claire  went  away  weeping,  for  the  sight  of  the  old  man  in 
his  insane  triumph  wiped  out  any  feeling  of  resentment  she 
might  have  harbored  against  the  man  who  had  caused  her  and 
Gerald  so  much  unhappiness. 

One  afternoon  Gerald,  waking  fcom  an  ur*/asy  sleep,  saw  a 
dark-robed  figure  sitting  beside  the  bed.  It  reminded  him  of 
Sister  Agnes;  but  he  thought  he  must  be  dreaming,  and  hf 
stretched  out  his  hand  and  laid  it  on  her  arm. 

It  was  Sister  Agnes,  and  she  turned  her  pale,  sad  face  on 
him  with  a  gentle  smile. 

l<  You  are  awake?"  she  said  in  her  soft,  placid  voice. 


344  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  he  assented,  rather  doubtfully.  "  But  Ji 
it  really  you,  sister?" 

"Yes,  it  is  I." 

"  That's  funny,"  he  said.  "  I've  thought  of  you  a  great 
deal,  and  I  dreamed  of  you  last  night.  Why  did.  you  come?" 

"  Because  you  had  need  of  me,"  she  said. 

"  How  did  you  know?"  he  asked. 

"  Claire  wrote  and  told  me  you  were  ill.  Something  bid 
me —  I  felt  that  I  must  come." 

"  It's  very  good  of  you,"  he  said,  "  and  I  am  very  glad! 
Are  you  going  to  stay?"  he  asked,  wistfully. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.  "I  have  sent  the  woman  away.  I 
am  going  to  nurse  you." 

"  You  won't  have  to  nurse  me  very  long,"  he  said.  "  I'm 
quite  well,  only  a  little  shaky  about  the  pins,  and  I'm  longing 
to  get  up." 

"  You  shall  get  up  when  you're  well  enough,"  she  said. 

"Ah!"  he  said,  "I  see  by  the  tone  that  I've  got  a  real 
nurse  now.  There's  no  one  so  tyrannical  and  overbearing. 
But  don't  you  think  I'm  a  poor  and  unprotected  male! 
There's  Claire,  she'll  take  my  part.  I  suppose  she  has  told 
you  that  I'm  her  sweetheart,  and  that  we're  going  to  be  mar- 
ried?" 

"  Yes,  she  has  told  me,"  said  Sister  Agnes,  gently  forcing 
him  to  lie  down  again,  for  in  his  eagerness  he  had  got  up  on 
his  elbow,  "  and  I  am  very  glad.  You  will  have  the  sweetest 
wife,  the  best  and  truest  woman — " 

"  Now,  that's  unfair!"  said  Gerald.  "  You're  speaking 
my  part.  Sister,  there  isn't  another  woman  like  her  in  the 
wide  world,  and  if  you'll  kindly  help  me  to  get  out  of  this 
foolish  bed  and  marry  her  out  of  hand,  I  shall  owe  you  a  life- 
long debt  of  gratitude." 

As  he  spoke,  Claire  entered  and  exclaimed  with  joy  and 
astonishment  at  the  sight  of  the  black-robed  figure  standing 
beside  him. 

"  Sister  Agnes!"  she  cried;  and  the  sister's  arms  were 
round  her  in  a  loving  embrace,  and  they  were  so  engrossed 
in  the  joy  of  their  meeting,  that  they  almost  seemed  to  forget 
Gerald,  until  he  reminded  them  of  his  unworthy  existence  by 
remarking  confidentially  to  the  ceiling: 

"  I  don't  appear  to  be  on  in  this  scene." 

Then  Claire  turned  to  him,  and  with  a  blushing  "  May  I?" 
to  the  sister,  knelt  and  kissed  him. 

"  I  wanted  you  to  come,"  she  said  to  Sister  Agnes,  "  but  I 
did  not  like  to  say  so  in  my  letter.  Gerald  was  coming  ujj 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REOtfA.  34J 

to  fetch  you.     I  have  so  much  to  tell  you,  and  I  want  to  hear 
all  about  the  school," 
Sister  Agnes  smiled. 

"  I  am  loaded  with  messages,"  she  said.  "  Tiny  and  all 
your  class  send  their  love.  Miss  Gover  does  not  send  hers." 
She  smiled  again,  with  the  first  touch  of  archness  in  her  face 
that  Claire  had  seen.  "She  says  that  if  you  do  not  return 
within  four  days  she  will  report  you  to  the  Board,  who  will 
doubtless  proceed  against  you  for  breach  of  contract.  She 
says  that  if  it's  true  you  have  recovered  your  wealth,  it's  one 
of  the  most  unfortunate  things  she  has  ever  heard  of;  because 
you  would  have  made  a  first-rate  teacher,  and  in  time  must 
have  risen  to  the  position  of  head  mistress,  which,  Miss  Gover 
says,  is  one  of  the  proudest  on  earth." 

"  As  she  will  find,"  said  Claire,  "  when  she  becomes  head 
mistress  of  the  Court  Regna  schools,  with  the  schools  rebuilt 
and  the  prettiest  of  school-houses — planned  by  Gerald  Wayre, 
Esq.,  architect — made  ready  for  her." 

"  Isn't  she  an  angel?"  demanded  Gerald  of  Sister  Agnes. 

"  Miss  Gover?"  said  Claire.  "  Have  you  only  just  found 
that  out?  Ah,  I  forgot!  You  do  not  know  her.  But  you 
will  indeed  say  so  when  you  make  her  acquaintance  —  an 
angel  with  the  sharpest  little  eyes,  and  the  sternest  little  voice, 
and  the  tenderest  big  heart  that  ever  beat  in  a  woman's 
bosom." 

"  In-deed!"  remarked  Gerald.  "  I  was  thinking  of  another 
angel." 

'*  Meaning  me?"  said  Claire,  with  delicious  frankness. 
"  I'm  not  a  bit  of  an  angel.  You  both  know  that.  I'm  only 
a  commonplace  young  person,  dominated  by  one  idea — yes,  a 
one-idead  person,  and  Miss  Gover  says  there  is  nothing  more 
contemptible." 

"I  think  I  rather  like  contemptible  people,  then,"  said 
Gerald.  "  And  may  one  ask  what  that  idea  is?" 

Claire  grew  rosy  red,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Not  before  Sister  Agnes,"  she  said. 

And  Sister  Agnes,  who  might  have  been  expected  to  chide 
their  levity,  sat  and  regarded  them  with  a  tender  smile  upon 
her  placid  lips  and  a  deep  light  of  protecting  love  in  her  gray 
ejes. 

"  You  must  make  him  quite  well  very  soon,  sister,"  said 
Claire,  "  and  bring  him  to  the  Court.  Mr.  Harling  and 
Grace — whom  you  know — are  with  me — and  I  can  do  nothing 
until  he  comes,  and  there  is  so  much  to  be  done!" 

"  To  the  Court  I"  said  Sister  Agnes  in  a  low  voice,  the 


346  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

smile  fading  from  her  face.  She  bent  her  head  under  the 
concealing  veil,  then  she  looked  up  steadily,  and  said:  "  Very 
well;  I  will  bring  him.  Go  now,  my  child/'  and  she  glanced 
at  Gerald's  flushed  face. 

Gerald  recovered  his  strength  very  quickly  under  Sister 
Agnes's  care.  After  the  first  day — one  might  almost  say  the 
first  few  minutes — he  accepted  her  devotion,  for  it  was  no  less, 
as  a  matter  of  course.  This  way  of  taking  it  surprised  him 
himself;  but  without  any  volition  on  his  part,  he  had  grown  to 
regard  her  as  if  she  belonged  to  him — as  if  he  had  some  special 
property  in  her.  He  could  scarcely  bear  to  have  her  out  of 
his  sight,  and  when  he  was  strong  enough  to  get  up,  he  leaned 
upon  her,  not  as  a  man  leans  upon  a  nurse,  but  as  a  husband 
leans  upon  a  wife,  a  son  upon  his  mother.  Once  or  twice,  in 
fact,  he  addressed  her  as  "  mother,"  as  he  had  done  on  his 
first  meeting  with  her;  and,  as  then,  she  trembled  at  the  word, 
and  her  eyes  grew  moist. 

Sitting  together  by  the  fire,  he  gradually  told  her  in  full  the 
story  of  his  life.  It  was  a  wonderful  story,  and  she  listened 
with  a  sympathy  of  which  he  was  conscious,  though  she 
seldom  said  a  word,  contenting  herself  with  now  and  then 
laying  her  thin  and  wasted  hand  on  his  strong  one. 

But  of  herself  and  her  own  life's  story  she  said  nothing,  and 
Gerald  revered  her  too  much  to  ask  a  word,  though  he  often 
regarded  he'r  with  a  silent  and  almost  painful  curiosity. 

One  day,  after  he  had  been  chafing  at  his  enforced  inaction 
and  imprisonment,  she  said,  quietly,  but  with  a  little  shake  in 
her  voice: 

"  You  are  well  enough  to  go  to  the  Court  to-day." 

"  Bravo!"  he  shouted. 

"  But  you  must  be  quiet,"  she  said,  tenderly.  "  It  is  all 
arranged.  A  carriage  will  be  at  the  top  of  the  steps  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour.  You  can  walk  thus  far?" 

"  I  could  walk  fifty  miles  if  Claire  were  at  the  end  of 
them!"  he  said,  joyously;  and  he  would  not  let  her  help  him 
to  put  on  his  overcoat.  "  I  am  going  to  escape  from  your 
clutches  from  to-day,"  he  said. 

It  was  only  an  affectation  of  triumph,  and  he  did  not  mean 
it,  for  his  heart  was  full  of  gratitude;  but  she  winced  a  little, 
looking  up  at  him  piteously,  and  he  was  aghast  at  the  effect 
of  his  bantering  speech. 

"  Why,  I  didn't  mean  it,"  he  said;  "  you  know  1  didn't! 
If  you  could  look  into  my  heart,  you  would  see  how  grateful, 
how — " 

He  put  both  hands  reverently  upon  her  shoulders- 


THE  MISTKESS  OF  COURT  EEGNA.  847 

"  I  know/'  she  said.  "  It  was  foolish  of  me.  Perhaps  I 
can  look  into  your  heart.  Lean  on  me  as  you  go  up  the 
steps,  though  you  may  not  need  to." 

As  they  climbed  up  the  quaint  and  unique  village  street,  the 
people  came  out  and  thronged  round  them  to  greet  Gerald 
with  affectionate  congratulations,  and  the  sister  with  respect 
and  gratitude.  No  one  looking  at  the  people,  as  they  stood 
round,  bareheaded  and  smiling,  would  have  recognized  in 
them  the  furious,  blood-thirsty  mob  which,  a  few  nights 
before,  had  threatened  to  tear  Mordaunt  Sapley  limb  from 
limb.  But  this  is  the  way  with  Eegna  folk.  They  are  as 
gentle  as  lambs,  and  as  responsive  to  affection  as  women;  but 
rouse  their  wrath  and  indignation,  and  the  lamb  becomes  a 
tiger,  and  the  woman  a  fury. 

Claire  and  Grace  were  waiting  in  the  carriage,  and  it  is 
difficult  to  say  which  of  the  girls,  in  their  respective  ways, 
made  more  fuss  over  Gerald  and  his  nurse. 

As  they  drove  to  the  Court,  along  the  cliff  road  down  which 
Claire  had  ridden  on  her  way  to  the  chapel  that  morning  long 
ago,  and  through  the  lanes  now  bare  of  leaves,  but  still  beau- 
tiful with  the  promise  of  another  spring,  and  up  the  wide 
avenue  with  its  lines  of  towering  elms,  Sister  Agnes  was  very 
silent.  She  leaned  back  with  her  arms  folded  arcoss  her 
bosom,  her  face  concealed  behind  the  veil,  so  that  the  others 
could  not  see  that  her  lips  were  moving  in  that  silent  prayer 
which  reaches  Heaven  more  quickly  than  any  flood  of  elo- 
quence. 

Her  face  was  pale,  and  it  quivered  with  some  emotion  when 
Mr.  Harling  met  them  on  tne  steps  and  was  made  known  to 
her.  Grace  fell  in  love  with  her  at  once;  and  indeed  it 
seemed  as  if  this  sad-faced  woman,  in  her  black  robe  of  mercy 
and  self-renunciation,  were  the  central  figure,  for  that  day  at 
least. 

She  stood  in  the  hall,  with  Claire  on  one  side  of  her  and 
Gerald  on  the  other,  and  looked  round  with  a  sad  and  thought- 
ful gaze,  as  if  the  sight  of  the  place  aroused  a  sentiment  more 
profound  than  curiosity  and  admiration. 

They  went  into  lunch,  and  the  young  people  were  very 
bright  and  almost  merry;  for  Gerald  was  throbbing  with  the 
excitement  of  newly  regained  health,  and  the  delight  of  being 
near  his  beloved;  and  Grace,  upon  whom  the  famous  air  of 
Downshire  had  wrought  a  marked  improvement,  was  in  pos- 
session of  all  her  natural  esprit. 

The  shadow  of  the  Sapleys  and  their  evil  doings  was  already 


348  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT   REGNA. 

passing  away  from  the  ancient  house,  upon  which  the  sun  of 
happiness  and  youthful  love  was  again  rising. 

They  talked  and  laughed,  but  were  not  forgetful  of  their 
two  elders,  who  sat  and  spoke  together  in  graver  tones;  and 
Gerald  would  now  and  again  turn,  with  a  word  and  a  smile  of 
tender  regard,  to  the  white,  patient  woman  beside  him. 

"  We  want  to  show  you  all  over  the  Court  after  lunch, 
sister,"  said  Claire.  "  Gerald,  who  knows  it  all  by  this  time, 
shall  act  as  cicerone  and  point  out  its  lions.'-'  As  she 
spoke,  she  bent  and  kissed  her.  It  was  delightful  to  have 
her  at  Court  Regna  and  to  know  that  she  was  resting  from 
her  life  of  toil  amongst  the  poor,  of  whom  none  had  suffered 
more  keenly  than  she  herself. 

After  lunch  Gerald  led  them  into  the  hall,  and  assuming 
the  air  of  a  guide,  rapidly  indicated  the  various  objects  of 
interest,  and  epitomized  their  history. 

"  But  the  pictures,"  he  said,  "  are,  perhaps,  Miss  Sar- 
toris's  " — with  a  mock  bow  to  Claire — "  most  valuable  and 
priceless  possessions.  If  you  will  step  this  way,  we  will  pro- 
ceed to  view  the  family  portraits  of  the  Wharton  family." 

He  changed  his  slightly  burlesque  tone  to  a  more  serious  one 
as  he  ran  over  the  portraits,  and,  naturally  enough,  drew  the 
sister's  arm  within  his. 

"  This,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  is  the  portrait  of  the  last  Lord 
Wharton." 

As  he  spoke  he  felt  the  arm  tremble  and  the  frail  body 
sway.  Mr.  Harling,  who  had  been  standing  near,  with  his 
observant  eye  upon  her,  stepped  forward  quickly  and  took  her 
other  hand.  Before  any  one  could  speak,  she  had  recovered 
herself  and  stood  looking  at  the  portrait  with  a  mask-like  face 
and  unfathomable  eyes.  She  looked^  that  moment  like  one 
of  the  pictures  stepped  from  its  frame. . 

"  You  are  tired,"  said  Gerald.     "  We  will  rest." 

"  No,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  but  quite  firmly.  "  Let  ua 
go  on,  please!" 

Gerald  drew  her  arm  through  his  still  more  closely,  and  they 
went  along  the  corridor  and  to  the  end  of  the  body  of  the 
building. 

"  There  is  an  old  wing  here,"  said  Gerald,  "  which  Claire 
would  like  to  show  you.  It  is  the  wing  I  was  at  work  upon; 
but  we  will  see  it  some  other  day." 

"  I  would  like  to  see  it  now,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Harling  signed  to  him  to  withhold  any  further  remon- 
strance, and  Claire,  unlocking  the  dividing  door,  they  passed 
into  the  room  which  had  just  escaped  demolition. 


THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  349 

"Is  it  not  a  fine  old  room?"  said  Gerald.  "  It  was  here 
that  I  was  at  work.  Oh,  by  the  way,  do  you  know,  Claire,  I 
had  quite  forgotten  the  portrait?" 

"  What  portrait?"  asked  Claire. 

"  The  portrait  of  the  lady  we  found  behind  the  panel,"  he 
said.  "  Don't  you  remember?  I  stuck  it  back  there  the  day  I 
left,  and  it  must  be  there  still,  of  course.  I  should  like  to 
show  it  to  the  sister  and  Mr.  Harling.  May  I?" 

"Why,  certainly!"  whispered  Claire.  "Why  do  you  ask 
me?  It  is  all  yours;"  then  aloud:  "  I'll  send  for  a  chisel  or 
something." 

"  No  need/'  he  said.  "  I  can  get  at  it  with  this;"  and  he 
took  out  the  old  knife  with  which  he  had  hunted,  carved,  and 
cut  fagots  and  other  things  too  numerous  and  too  varied  to 
mention,  and  getting  on  a  chair,  removed  the  panel  with  ease 
and  took  out  the  picture. 

"  It's  none  the  worse,"  he  said.  "  Wait  till  I've  dusted  it, 
and  you  will  see  how  beautiful  it  is." 

They  all  gazed  at  it,  then  Mr.  Harling  uttered  an  exclama- 
tion and  glanced  at  Sister  Agnes.  She  had  sunk  on  one  ef  the 
ancient  chairs,  and  was  looking  at  the  picture  with  the  same 
set  face  and  unfathomable  eyes.  They  all  followed  his  gaze, 
and  Claire,  after  a  moment  or  two  of  silence,  said  in  an  awed 
voice: 

"  Sister,  it  is  like  you!" 

Sister  Agnes  smiled  a  strange  smile. 

**  The  portrait  is  that  of  a  young  girl,  Claire.  I  am  an  old 
woman." 

"  Still  there  is  a  likeness,"  said  Gerald  in  a  hushed  voice. 
"  I  see  it  now.  Why  did  I  not  notice  it  when  I  first  saw  you? 
Do  you  detect  it,  sir.-"'' 

Mr.  Harling  rubbed  his  chin  and  looked  hard  at  the  floor. 

"  Likenesses  are  very  deceptive,  my  lad,"  he  said.  "  Put 
toe  picture  down;  the  sister  would  like  to  rest  here  for  a 
little  while.  Miss  Sartoris,  if  I  might  take  the  liberty—" 

— "  In  your  own  house?"  said  Claire,  with  a  smile. 

For  once  he  did  not  contradict  her,  but  went  on  quietly. 

"  I  would  suggest  that  we  have  our  tea  here." 

"  1  will  go  and  see  to  it,"  said  Claire.  "  Come  with  me, 
Grace!"  and  linking  her  arm  in  Grace's,  she  ran  out  of  the 
room,  more  like  a  school-girl  than  so  important  a  person  as 
the  mistress  of  Court  Regna. 

Mr.  Harling  closed  the  door  after  them,  and  going  up  to 
Sister  Agnes,  laid  his  hand  gently  and  protectingly  on  hers. 

"  My  dear/'  he  said,  "  shall  I  tell  him  the  story  of  that 


350  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGNA. 

picture?  You  know  that  I  have  guessed — discovered  it?  But 
you  yourself  do  not  know  all.  It  has  only  come  to  my 
knowledge  very  recently.  Are  you  strong  enough  to  hear  it?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said  in  the  same  tone. 

Mr.  Harliug  looked  at  Gerald. 

"  My  boy,"  he  said,  "  be  prepared  for  a  surprise,  and  try  to 
take  it  as  calmly  as  she,  God  helping  her,  will  do." 

Gerald  said  nothing,  but  bent  his  head  and  stood  erect  with 
folded  arms. 

"  It  was  not  a  whim,  Gerald,  that  took  me  to  that  place — 
Lartree,"  said  Mr.  Harling.  "  I  went  there  to  find  a  sister 
from  whom  I  had  parted  when  I  was  a  child.  She  was  older 
than  I,  and  had  been  a  mother  to  me,  and  when  I  came  back 
to  England  my  first  thought  was  of  her.  I  did  not  find  her. 
I  shall  not  do  so  till  1  have  crossed  the  last  river.  She  had 
married  the  vicar  of  the  place,  and  she  had  died  of  a  broken 
heart.  His  heart  had  broken  also,  for  they  had  lost  their 
only  child,  the  treasure  of  their  lives.  She  had  not  died,  but 
had  left  them  with  her  lover,  and  had  passed  out  of  their  lives 
as  completely  as  if  snatched  from  them  by  the  hand  of  death 
itself.  I  wanted  to  find  where  this  daughter — my  niece,  re- 
member— had  gone.  And  1  have." 

His  hand  closed  .on  the  sister's.  The  black-robed  figure  was 
bowed  and  motionless. 

"  If  you  are  thinking  ill  of  her,  cease  to  do  so.  The  man 
she  fled  with  married  Tier.  He  took  her  away  with  him  to 
Italy,  and  there,  deeming  her  guilty  of  betraying  him,  he  left 
her.  A  child  was  born.  She  thought  that  it  had  died" — 
his  hand  closed  more  firmly  on  the  one  he  held — "  but  she  was 
deceived.  The  boy  lived.  It  was  taken  from  her  and  placed 
under  the  cafe  of  a  couple  in  England.  He  grew  up  with 
them  to  boyhood,  and  then  he  ran  away  from  them  to  sea." 

Gerald  moved  slightly  and  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  but 
said  nothing. 

"  Mother  and  son  were  completely  ignorant  of  each  other's 
existence.  She  came  to  England  at  last  and  devoted  herself 
to  a  life  of  charity.  The  saints  are  not  all  dead  yet;  she  is 
one  of  them."  His  voice  broke  slightly.  "He  wandered 
about  the  world  until  it  chanced  that  he  came  to  a  place  called 
Regna." 

Gerald  uttered  an  exclamation  under  his  breath. 

"  Be  silent  and  be  calm,  my  lad,"  said  Mr.  Harling,  with  a 
warning  glance  at  the  figure  beside  him.  "  I  chanced  to 
meet  him  at  the  very  place  at  which  his  mother  was  born. 
Can  you  wonder  that  I  started  when  you  told  me  your  name, 


THE  MISTEESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  351 

Gerald?  For  it  was  the  maiden  name  of  your  mother— 
Wayre." 

Gerald  could  not  repress  a  cry  now. 

"  You,"  said  Mr.  Barling,  "  were  her  son  and  my  kins- 
man. The  man  she  married  was  Lord  Wharton.  This  lady, 
whom  God  protect,  is  Lady  Wharton,  and  your  mother!" 

There  was  a  profound  silence  in  the  room;  then— how,  he 
knew  not — Gerald  was  on  his  knees  before  her,  with  his  arras 
straining  around  her,  and  his  head  upon  her  bosom,  while  sobs 
of  "  Mother!"  "  My  son!"  broke  the  solemn  silence. 


Lady  Wharton's  severe  training  in  the  sternest  and  most 
severe  of  schools  had  endowed  her  with  a  marvelous  power  of 
self-restraint;  and  though  her  whole  being  was  thrilling  with 
that  most  sacred  of  all  emotions,  maternal  love,  she  exerted 
that  power  on  behalf  of  the  still  more  shaken  and  agitated 
Gerald.  She  soothed  him  with  word  and  caress,  and  in  a  very 
few  minutes  they  were  sitting,  hand  in  hand,  with  tears  on 
their  cheeks,  'tis  true,  but  outwardly  calm. 

"  Mother!  whispered  Gerald,  as  if  the  word  were  the 
sweetest  his  lips  could  frame,  and  "Gerald,  my  son!"  she 
murmured  in  response,  while  Mr.  Harling  stood  at  a  little  dis- 
tance, with  his  back  turned  to  them,  and  his  face  hidden  in 
his  handkerchief. 

"  And  you  are  Lady  Wharton,"  said  Gerald.  "  Think  of 
it,  mother — mother!" 

"  And  you  are  Lord  Wharton,"  said  Mr.  Harling,  coming 
up  to  them.  "  Think  of  that!" 

Gerald  started.     He  had,  in  fact,  not  thought  of  it  yet. 

"  Now,  you  see,"  remarked  Mr.  Harling,  dryly,  "  that  you 
and  Claire  need  make  no  fuss  about  my  paying  the  Sapleys* 
mortgage.  I'm  your  uncle,  my  boy,  or  something  like  -it. 
Shake  hands!  God  bless  you,  my  boy!  You  little  thought, 
when  you  fought  for  Grace's  life,  that  you  were  risking  yours 
to  save  your  cousin.  Fin  your  kinsman,  as  I  say;  ancfl  sup- 


buying  something  for  Grace,  and  it  makes  me  feel  quite  glad 
that  I  found  the  Butterfly." 

Gerald  wrung  his  hand. 

"  But  they're  Claire's  estates,  you  know,"  he  said,  with  ft 
laugh.  "  They  were  not  entailed,  and  Lord  Wharton — " 

"  Your  father!"  murmured  Ludy  Wharton. 


352  THE   MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGtfA. 

"Yes,  my  father,"  said  Gerald  in  a  low  voice,  and  still 
wonderingly,  "  left  everything  to  her;  aud  it  was  the  very 
best  thing  he  could  have  done/'  Then  he  looked  at  them 
gravely.  "  By  the  way,  sir,  I  " — he  stopped  and  bit  his  lip, 
and  looked  a  little  troubled — "  couldn't  we  keep  our  secret  a 
little  longer?  I've  got  my  mother,  and  I  don't  care  a  fig  for 
the  title.  Couldn't  we  keep  it  until  Claire  and  I  are  married? 
She's — well,  it  will  be  no  news  to  you  if  I  tell  you  that  she's 
proud.  You  know  that.  She  wouldn't  be  my  own  dear 
Claire  if  she  were  not.  If  she  knows  who  I  am  she  will  want 
to  hand  over  the  estates,  and—  Mother,  I  don't  want  her  to 
do  that.  I  would  rather  marry  her  as  we  are;  she,  the  mis- 
tress of  Court  Eegna,  and  I,  just  Gerald  Wayre — quite  a 
nobody,  without  a  title  and  without  a  penny." 

Of  course  the  mother  understood  instantly. 

"  Yes,  keep  the  secret,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  Mr.  Har- 
ling. 

He  hesitatec*. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  You  two  will  find  ifc 
precious  difficult  to  hide  it.  You  won't  be  able  to  look  at 
each  other  without  having  '  mother  '  and  '  son  '  in  your  eyes." 

"We  have  called  each  other  'mother'  and  'son,'"  said 
Lady  Wharton,  tremulously. 

"Well — well!"  said  Mr.  Harling,  resignedly.  "Let  the 
boy  have  his  way.  But,  mark  me,  Gerald,  only  till  after  the 
wedding.  You  must  take  your  proper  place  then.  I'm  going 
to  take  that  as  my  reward  for  hunting  out  the  truth.  I  want 
to  ^ee  my  sister's  grandchild  in  his  proper  place — the  Earl  of 
Wharton!  I  want  to  see  my  niece  recognized  and  righted!" 

Lady  Wharton  trembled. 

"  I  am  Sister  Agnes,"  she  said. 

"  You  are  that  boy's  mother,  my  dear,"  he  said,  warmly, 
"  and  you  owe  it  to  him,  to  your  dead  parents'  memory,  to 
your  family,  to  take  your  right  place  and  position." 

"  It  shall  be  as  Gerald  wishes,"  she  said. 

"  Hush!  Here  they  come,"  he  said.  "  After  the  wedding. 
We  must  be  married  at  once.  You  must  help  me  to  persuade 
her,  mother.  Hush!" 

He  had  just  time  to  kiss  her  and  move  away  from  her  before 
Olaire  and  Grace  came  in.  They  were  laughing  about  some- 
ching,  and  were  flushed  with  running  up  the  stairs.  Claire 
went  up  to  Lady  Wharton  and  put  her  arm  round  her. 

"  Are  you  rested,  dear?"  she  said.  "  Tea's  just  coming. 
How  happy  you  look!" 

"  J  am  very  happy,"  said  Sister  Agne?,  and  her  eyes  filled 


THE  MISTEESS  OF  COURT  REGNA.  363 

with  tears.  Gerald  went  to  the  window.  The  footman 
brought  in  the  tea,  and  Claire  at  once  began  to  pour  it  out. 

"  It  was  a  happy  idea  of  yours,  Mr.  Harling,"  she  said, 
"  and  we'll  often  have  tea  here — when  it's  rebuilt,  1  mean/' 
she  went  on,  glancing  at  Gerald.  "  The  architect  has 
returned  after  a  long  holiday,  and  is  going  to  resume  opera- 
tions. On  the  south  side  he  intends  building  two  suites  of 
rooms;  one  of  them  for  some  friends  of  mine — Mr.  Hading 
and  his  daughter — and  the  other  for  a  lady  who  will  be  kept 
a  close  prisoner  here.  I  say  a  prisoner,  because  it  will  only  be 
by  chaining  her  to  some  article  of  furniture  that  we  shall  be 
able  to  keep  her  from  escaping  to  her  dearly  beloved  slums. 
However,  perhaps  we  shall  be  able  to  find  her  some  poor  and 
dirty  people  in  Regna.  Let  us  hope  so." 

She  looked  at  Sister  Agnes  bewitchingly,  as  if  she  defied  her 
to  refuse,  and  then  went  on,  turning  to  Gerald: 

"  Oughtn't  we  to  keep  this  antique  furniture,  Gerald,  just 
as  it  is?  We  want  Mary  Lexton  here,  and  she  is  coming  in  a 
week  or  two.  I  heard  from  her  this  morning.  She  knows  all 
about  furniture,  and  can  *  spot '  the  genuine  antique.  Is  that 
right,  Gerald?  I'm  trying  to  learn  all  his  slang,  Mr.  Harling, 
because  I  find  it  so  much  more  expressive  than  ordinary 
English." 

"  Some  of  it's  very  expressive,"  said  Mr.  Harling,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye. 

Claire  blushed. 

"  Well,  I  have  to  make  a  selection,  of  course;  it's  so  diffi- 
cult to  tell  whether  a  word's  wicked  or  not.  I  tried  one  on 
Lord  Chester  yesterday,  and  he  didn't  even  wince,  and  it 
would  be  so  easy  to  shock  him." 

Gerald  looked  down  at  her  with  a  fine  smile. 

"  Easy  for  most  people,  1  dare  say,"  he  said.  "  But  some 
of  us  are  privileged." 

The  color  rose  (igain  to  Claire's  face.  She  had  told  Gerald 
of  Lord  Chester's  offer,  and,  strange  to  say,  it  had  not  roused 
his  jealousy,  but  only  increased  the  warmth  of  his  liking  for 
that  true  nobleman. 

"  Yes,"  said  Claire,  musingly,  "  we  will  let  Mary  loose  on 
the  furniture,  as  Gerald  would  say,  and  she  shall  arrange  it 
just  as  she  pleases.  It  will  be  delightful  to  see  her  trying  to 
drag  that  old  bureau  about,  for  instance,"  and  she  nodded 
at  it. 

Gerald  started. 

"  By  Jove!"  he  said,  "  that  reminds  me!"  and  he  began 
Humbling  in  his  pocket  It  was  full  of  papers  and  sketches, 

18 


354  THE  MISTRESS  OF  COURT  REGSTA. 

and  they  all  watched  him  with  the  faint  amusement  and 
enjoyment  with  which  we  all  watch  a  man  hunting  for  some- 
thing. "  Oh,  here  it  is!"  he  said,  at  last,  and  he  held  up  an 
envelope.  "  Do  you  remember  my  finding  some  papers  that 
had  been  left  in  that  old  bureau,  Claire?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Oh,  but  you  must!" 

"  If  you  say  so,  I  do,"  she  said,  with  so  meek  a  smile  on  her 
lovely  face  that  Grace  laughed. 

"  I  gave  them  to  you,  and  you  gave  them  back  to  me  to 
take  care  of,  or  give  to  Mr.  Sapley,  1  forget  which." 

"  And  you  have  taken  care  of  them  in  a  man's  usual  way," 
said  Mr.  Harling.  "  If  you  want  to  forget  anything — if  you 
want  to  lose  a  letter,  for  instance,  give  it  to  a  man  to  post. 
I've  carried  one  about  in  my  pocket,  already  stamped,  for 
months." 

"  I've  carried  these  about  for  months,"  said  Gerald.  "  I 
put  them  into  this  envelope,  meaning  to  post  them,  then  I 
thought  I'd  bring  it  myself.  That's  what  brought  me  back 
to  Court  Kegna,"  he  added,  with  a  simplicity  that  made  Lady 
Wharton  smile  and  the  rest  laugh.  "  It  is  fearfully  dirty;  the 
envelope,  I  mean;  but  there  it  is  at  last." 

Claire  took  it. 

"  It  looks  as  if  it  had  been  carried  about  by  the  Wandering 
Jew,"  she  said,  lightly.  "  I  suppose  they'll  turn  out  to  be 
nothing  more  interesting  than  old  bills  or  receipts."  She 
looked  at  her  name  written  by  his  hand  with  the  look  which 
only  a  woman  hi  love  can  wear,  then  she  daintily  opened  the 
envelope. 

Gerald  had  beckoned  Lady  Wharton  to  the  window,  and 
was  talking  to  her  in  a  low  voice,  when  Claire  rose  with  a 
faint  exclamation.  They  turned  and  saw  her  standing  with 
two  faded  papers  in  her  hand.  Her  face  was  white,  and  there 
was  a  startled  expression  in  her  eyes.  She  looked  round  the 
group,  then  holding  out  the  papers  a  little,  she  said  in  a  low 
voice; 

"  You  have  not  read  these?  But  of  course  not.  Can  you 
guess  what  they  are?  No,  you  can  not.  This  is  Lord 
Wharton's  will!" 

'*  Lord  Wharton's  will?"  Mr.  Harling  said,  quickly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Claire,  looking  at  him  with  a  strange  light  in 
her  eyes.  Women  are  quick  to  grasp  a  great  truth,  quicker 
even  than  men,  when  the  fact  closely  touches  those  they  love. 
*'  This  is  hie  will,  his  last  will.  I  know  the  date  of  that 


THE  MI8TEES6  OF  COURT  KEGlfA.  355 


which  he  made  in  my  favor.     This  is  " — she  glanced  at  the 
paper — "  two  years  later." 

They  held  their  breath. 

"  And — ?"  asked  Mr.  Harling,  comprehensively. 

"  No,  it  does  not  leave  Court  Eegna  to  me,"  said  Claire. 
"  I  knew  it.  He  told  me  almost  with  his  last  breath  that  he 
had  not  done  so.  This  will — see,  it  is  all  in  a  few  lines — 
leaves  everything,  excepting  a  provision  for  me,  to  his  son." 

Gerald  and  Mr.  Harling  exchanged  glances.  Lady  Wharton 
stood  with  her  arms  folded  across  her  bosom,  patient  and 
calm. 

"  To  his  son,"  continued  Claire  in  a  hushed  voice,  "  Ger- 
ald Way  re  !  Gerald,  is  it  you?" 

He  went  and  put  his  arms  round  her.  She  put  both  her 
hands,  with  the  papers  in  them,  on  his  breast,  and  looked  at 
him,  her  breath  coming  fast.  Something  like  dread  mingled 
with  the  amazement  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  am  Lord  Wharton's  son,  dear!"  he  said. 

She  laughed;  it  was  a  little  hysterical. 

"  You  are  Lord  Wharton,  the  Earl  of  Wharton?"  she 
breathed. 

"  I  am  Lord  Wharton,  Claire,"  he  said.  "  But  it  is  not 
proven  yet." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  and  the  hand  that  held  the  smaller  paper 
fluttered  on  his  breast.  "  This  is  the  certificate  of  your  birth. 
He  m  ust  have  put  it  with  the  will,  that  there  might  be  no 
doubt,  no  difficulty.  Take  them,  Gerald.  Everything  is 
yours."  She  laughed  still  a  little  hysterically,  and  her  hand 
seemed  to  close  on  him  clingingly.  "  Oh,  1  am  so  glad,  so 
glad!  You  are  Lord  Wharton!  Think  of  it,  Gerald!  I  am 
so  glad  and  so — proud.  And  I  have  been  robbing  you  all  this 
time.  But  I  give  it  all  back  to  you  now,  dear— everything." 

She  seemed  to  divine  by  the  silence  that  her  surprise  was 
not  shared  wholly  by  the  others,  and  she  looked  over  her 
shoulder  at  them. 

"  Why,  you  knew  it,  sister!" 

Gerald  drew  Lady  Wharton  forward. 

"  You  have  given  me  Court  Regna,  dearest,"  he  said,  and 
the  tears  that  shone  in  his  eyes  were  no  shame  to  his  man- 
hood. "Shall  I  give  you  something  in  exchange?  Claire, 
this  is  my  mother —and  yours." 

As  Lady  Wharton  took  the  now  sobbing  girl  in  her  arms, 
Gerald  turned  aside,  tore  the  will  in  two,  and  dropped  it  on 
the  fire  which  the  servants  had  lighted.  But  Mr.  Harling 


356  THE  MISTRESS  OP  COURT 

sprung  forward  and  snatched  the  half-burned  document  from 
the  grate. 

"  Excuse  me,  young  man,"  he  said,  dryly;  "  you  forget 
that  I've  an  interest  in  the  property;"  and  he  carefully 
extinguished  the  paper,  folded  it  as  carefully,  and,  with  a 

nod,  placed  it  in  his  pocket. 

******* 

The  wedding  was  to  have  been  A  quiet  one — quite  quiet — 
but  perhaps  no  one  was  very  much  surprised  to  find,  when  the 
bridal  party  made  its  way  to  the  'church,  that  the  time-beaten 
little  edifice  was  crammed;  that  not  only  the  church-yard,  but 
a  large  space  in  front  of  it,  was  filled  with  an  eager,  excited 
and  delighted  crowd.  Carriages,  lined  the  roal?,  gay  with 
bunting  and  laurel,  for  some  distance;  for  though  the  invita- 
tions had  been  few,  the  guests  were  many.  The  county 
simply  declined  to  be  left  out  of  an  affair  which  so  intimately 
concerned  it,  and  everybody  who  could  be  present  came  to 
look  on  at  the  most  romantic  wedding  which  had  ever  taken 
place  in  Regna;  or,  in  fact,  hi  the  county  itself.  Claire  had 
always  been  popular,  and  Gerald  had  won  a  place  for  himself 
in  the  hearts  of  the  poor;  and  the  fact  that  the  sweet  face  of 
Sister  Agnes  was  Lady  Wharton,  and  his  mother,  added  a  zest 
to  the  situation  which  heightened  the  interest  and  excitement. 

As  the  bride  appeared,  a  murmur  of  admiration  and  affec- 
tion, which  soon  grew  into  ajoud  cheer,  greeted  her  and  sent 
the  blood  to  her  face. 

Mr.  Harling,  who  gave  her  away,  was  perhaps  the  proudest 
man  in  what  was  afterward  described  as  a  popular  demonstra- 
tion; and  he  shook  hands  with  Lord  Chester  three  separate 
times,  as  the  two  men,  warm  friends  already,  made  their  way 
with  difficulty  through  the  crowd.  But  indeed  his  pride 
seemed  to  be  shared  by  the  whole  throng,  who  felt  as  if  the 
mistress  of  Court  Eegna  belonged  to  every  one  of  them,  as 
indeed,  in  the  best  of  all  senses,  she  did,  and  continued  to 
belong. 

As  for  Gerald,  his  pride  in  the  lovely  creature  who  was  that 
day  made  his  own  was  overwhelmed  by  a  joy  so  great  as  to 
fill  him  with  a  wondering  amazement. 

It  seemed  to  him,  even  as  they  drove  back  to  the  Court, 
ade  by  side  and  hand  in  hand,  as  if  even  now  he  doubted  the 
reality  of  his  overwhelming  happiness;  and  his  hand  closed,  on 
ners  in  a  grip  so  tight  that  she  could  feel  the  impress  of  her 
wedding-ring — her  wedding-ring! — on  the  fingers  next  it. 

"  Claire!  Clairel    Is  it  all  a  dream?"  he  said. 

She  was  silent  a  moment,  then  she  whispered; 


THE  MISTBESS  OP  COUKT  REGtfA.  35? 

"  Yes,  it  is  all  a  dream,  Gerald;  but  you  and  I  will  go  on 
dreaming  it.'* 

They  were  still  in  dream-land  as  they  passed  up  the  steps 
lined  by  a  cheering  crowd,  for  the  Court  was  open  to  all  who 
chose  to  enter  its  grounds  that  day — a  crowd  that  shouted 
with  all  the  power  of  its  lungs:  "  God  bless  you,  my  lord) 
God  bless  you,  Mr.  Gerald!  God  bless  you,  my  lady!  Heaven 
keep  you  and  send  you  happiness,  Miss  Claire!  Long  life  to 
our  lord  and  lady!".  'They  were  still  in  dream-land  when  they 
stood  in  the  hall,  surrounded  by  their  true  and  tried  friends, 
and  they  did  not  .wake  to  the  full  sense  of  the  happiness  God 
had  showered  uopn  them  until  Claire  was  lying  upon  Sister 
Agnes's  tender  'Bosom,  and  they  heard  her  murmur,  with  a 
little  sob: 

"  God  bless  you,  my  son  and  daughter!*' 

Of  that  wedding-breakfast  Downshire  in  general,  and  Regna 
in  particular,  still  talks.  Lord  and  Lady  Wharton  are 
famous  for  their  hospitality,  but  none  of  the  splendid  enter- 
tainments which  have  since  been  given  by  them  within  the 
stately  walls  of  Court  Eegna  have  effaced  the  memory  of  the 
never-to-be-forgotten  marriage-feast;  and  men  still  quote, 
with  admiration  and  despair,  the  speeches  made  by  Mr. 
Harling  and  Lord  Chester,  and  talk  of  the  bride  and  her 
beauty. 

There  is  always  a  little  pause  after  the  excitement  of  such  a 
tremendous  function,  and  perhaps  few  noticed  that  the  bride 
and  bridegroom,  attired  for  traveling,  had  stolen  away,  or  that 
the  Dowager  Lady  Wharton  was  also  missing.  These  three 
had  left  the  crowd  of  rejoicing  guests  and  had  gone  down,  side 
by  side,  to  the  little  cottage  in  the  shrubbery.  It  was  not 
Lady  Wharton's  first  visit  there. 

As  they  stood  by  the  bed,  the  old  woman  who  had  accom- 
panied her  in  her  girlish  flight  looked  up  at  her  with  dim  but 
smiling  and  loving  eyes;  but  it  was  to  Claire  she  spoke.  To 
her,  Gerald  and  Claire  were  Lord  Wharton  and  the  girl  with 
whom  she  had  sailed  in  the  yacht;  and  as  Claire  bent  down 
rvnd  kissed  her,  she  said,  with  placid  satisfaction: 

"  You're  looking  as  well  and  bonny,  my  lady,  as  ever;  and 
my  lord,  too,  is  just  as  he  always  was.  Ah,  well;  you  deserve 
a  good  and  handsome  husband,  my  lady;  and  my  lord  is  that, 
let  people  say  what  they  will. " 

'*  Say  '  God  bless  you,'  nurse,"  whispered  Claire. 

"  God  bless  you,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  woman,  as  if  she 
a  little  surprised  at  the  request  and  Claire's  emotion; 


358  THE  MISTKESS  OF  COUBT  BEGffA. 

"  and  God  bless  my  lord,  too.  Does  the  yacht  sail  to-day? 
Is  the  weather  fine?" 

"  Yes,  nurse,"  said  Gerald's  deep  voice;  "  and,  please  God, 
we  shall  have  a  long  and  prosperous  voyage." 

Just  before  the  happy  pair  entered  the  ribbon-bedecked  car- 
riage which  was  to  convey  them  to  the  station,  Gerald  handed 
i  long-shaped  parcel  to  Mr.  Harling.  It  looked  as  if  it  con* 
tained  an  ax;  and,  in  fact,  it  did,  and  a  very  fine  and  useful 
ax  it  would  have  been  if  Terence  could  ever  have  brought 
himself  to  use  it,  instead  of  hanging  it  over  his  fire-place,  and 
pointing  it  out  to  every  one  who  entered  the  hut,  and  insisting 
upon  telling  them  the  wonderful  story  of  its  donor. 

It  may  be  mentioned  that  Gerald  and  Claire  themselves 
found  it  there  when  they  paid  Terence  a  visit  later  on. 

With  shouts  of  "  Come  back  soon — come  back  soon!"  ring- 
ing in  their  ears,  they  were  whirled  to  the  station;  and  at  last, 
in  the  reserved  carriage  of  the  London  express,  realized  that 
they  were  alone. 

It  is  a  strange  feeling,  that  isolation  in  the  midst  of  a  great 
joy  and  absorbing  happiness.  These  two  could  only  look  into 
each  other's  eyes  in  silence  for  a  time;  then  Gerald  said,  as  he 
drew  the  costly  furs  more  closely  round  the  woman  whose 
small  hands  had  opened  the  gates  of  the  earthly  paradise  for 
him: 

"  Claire,  that  cry  of  theirs  echoes  in  my  ear.  We  must  go 
back  soon.  We  shall  be  happy  over  there  in  the  warmth  and 
sunshine;  but  Court  Regna  lies  very  near  my  heart — almost 
as  near  as  its  queen."  She  nestled  a  little  closer.  "  I  first 
learned  what  love  meant  when  I  met  its  mistress*  there,  and 
somehow  it  seems  mean  and  cruel  to  rob  it  of  her,  even  in  this 
moment  of  our  joy,  and  even  though  it  be  only  for  a  time." 

"  You  have  not  robbed  it,  Gerald,"  she  whispered,  her  lips 
close  to  his.  "  Think.  You  have  given  it  a  master  as  well. 
You  are  Court  Regna's  lord  and  master,  and  mine.  Be  good 
to  as  both,  dear  my  lord,  for  we  love  you  passing  well!" 


TEE  E3TD. 


The  Letters  ol  Alphonse 

"  MEMBER  OF  THE  FRENCH  yOURNALISM" 
BY  ALEX.  KENEALY 

Alphonse  is  an  accredited  correspondent  of  a  Parisian 
journal  and  gives  his  impression  of  things  American  as  he 
sees  them,  in  a  series  of  letters  to  his  "  small  Journal  for 
to  Read."  Their  seemingly  unconscious  humor  is  so 
deliciously  absurd  that  it  will  convulse  the  reader  with 
laughter  in  nearly  every  line.  There  is  no  dialect  in 
them,  and  their  humor  lies  entirely  in  the  peculiar  views 
set  forth,  as  well  as  the  grotesque  language  in  which  they 
are  expressed.  No  book  so  genuinely  funny  has  been 
published  in  a  decade,  and  the  fun  is  in  an  entirely  new 
vein.  Alphonse's  description  of  a  ride  in  an  "upstairs 
berth  "  of  a  sleeping  car,  should  be  read  by  every  regular 
or  occasional  traveler. 

Cloth  bound,  small  12  mo.  with  illustrations  and 
cover  design  by  F.  Opper. 

PRICE,  SEVENTY-FIVE  CENTS 

On  Many  Greens 

BY  MILES  BANTOCK 
With  an  Introduction  ly  Find  lay  S.  Douglas 

A  book  for  "Duffers"  as  well  as  Golfers,  being  a 
compilation  of  clever  things  about  the  Ancient  and  Royal 
Game  and  those  who  play  it.  Every  golfer  and  most  of 
those  who^are  not  golfers  should  read  this  little  book.  It 
contains  a  little  that  is  serious  and  much  that  is  pure  fun, 
collected  from  all  sorts  of  sources,  and  edited  by  a  golf 
enthusiast. 

Just  the  thing  to  read  aloud  to  your  friends,  or  to 
while  away  the  monotony  of  a  rainy  afternoon  or  a  dull 
railway  journev. 

12  mo.  cloth,  with  many  decorations  and  illustrations. 

PRICE,  ONE  DOLLAR 
Either  of  the  above  books  at  all  bookstlleri  or  tint  postpaid  by  the  publiihtrt. 

GBOSSET  &  DUNLAP,  11  East  16th  St,  New  YorK 


A  Beautifully  Illustrated  Edition 
of  LONGFELLOW'S   soul- 
stirring  poem 

Ctmngeltne 

Printed  on  super-calandered  paper, 
and  containing  thirty  full-page  half 
tone  and  many  text  illustrations. 

Bound  in  Cloth,  with  handsome 
Cover  Design  in  silver  and  ink.  Gilt 
'Tops. 


,  3Ftfti?  Cents? 


GROSSET  £^  DUNLAP 

1 1   EAST  SIXTEENTH   STREET 
New  Tork  City 


000129275 


